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THE CLOSED ROAD 




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THE CLOSED ROAD 

BY 

ROSENA A. GILES 



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1923 

BOSTON NEW YORK 

THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 











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Copyright, 1923 , by 

THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING MOTION PICTURE RIGHTS, DRAMATIC 
RIOHTS, SERIAL RIGHTS, AND INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING SCANDINAVIAN 

Printed in the United States of America 


THE JORDAN & MORE PRESS 
BOSTON 


MAY -7 ’23 

©C1A704S31 


To 

My Brothers and Sisters 














































































TABLE OF CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I 

Into Crevola Bronson’s eventless life, comes Berold, the 3 
desert born. Outlaw, Mexican John. Louie Barbano 
makes a discovery. His act of chivalry. 

CHAPTER II 

Berold’s story. Count Piero de Grassi’s son. Beyond the 22 
mesa rim. “ No fear, no danger.” Crevola accepts a 
revolver. Why Uncle Joe wanders from home, and why 
a man shares his inner life with a woman. 

CHAPTER III 

The wild stallion and the untamed heart of a man. 11 All 37 
women are good — yet — sometimes, Jose, they surprise 
us.” Louie Barbano’s Ranch house. Navajo Kate 
and her new born baby. The curse of a loving wife. 

Louie tries to win his child’s affection. “ A man must 
pay.” For how long? 

CHAPTER IV 

Uncle Joe returns. Old Gonzales gives a warning. Aunt 60 
Rachel. A lie or a life. Crevola outwits the outlaw, and 
gains two friends. 


CHAPTER V 

Louie Barbano’s wife and child sent across the sea. A 75 
present of diamonds. Jim Meredith’s startling story. 
Berold’s swift journey. 


CHAPTER VI 

Visit of the Deputy Sheriff whose father had stolen Uncle 78 
Joe’s best colt. Visit of another man whose sins are his 
own. Crevola thinks a lover should be young, and 
unmarried. Louie Barbano fails the standard. 


Contents 


vm 


CHAPTER VII 

Louie’s charitable plan. Kate’s defiance changes to 94 
obedience, but she is commanded to leave her baby in 
care of Wallipai Jane. 

CHAPTER VIII 

Count Piero de Grassi’s gifts arrive. Navajo Kate comes, 102 
sullen and defiant. 


CHAPTER IX 

Letter from Mary, en route. The “ nice gentleman who 107 
pulls funny faces.” Mary’s unexpected return. Louise’s 
alarming illness. The tragedy of losing satin dresses, 
beaded slippers and silk stockings. Louie continues to 
pay. Louise’s convalescence. 

CHAPTER X 

A shallow, pettish woman, glimpses of conjugal bless. 117 
How the wild stallion serves. Father Gregory’s council. 
Louie’s forbearance. Mary worries about letters that do 
not arrive. She gives Louie a surprise party. 

CHAPTER XI 

Botticelli’s “ Spring.” Crevola shows Cousin Ralph’s 137 
grave. Kate watches Louie with suspicious eyes. 

CHAPTER XII 

Crevola makes new clothes. A message from Mary. The 141 
man who pulled funny faces. “ I hold you no ill will, but 
I wish you had her. I’ll bet you’d learn to pull funnier 
faces! ” 


CHAPTER XIII 

Saturday morning and a gift horse. The mesa at sunrise 147 
and the apocalypse of the dawn. Kate seeks a favor of 
Louie. 


CHAPTER XIV 

Uncle Joe tells Aunt Rachel of Crevola’s “ fine young man.” 155 
Life expands for Crevola. From friend to lover — disas¬ 
trous consequences. Kate gives Crevola a warning. 


Contents 


IX 


CHAPTER XV 

The wild stallion challenges Louie to battle. 163 

CHAPTER XVI 

The Forest Ranger’s shack. Louie visits the Ranger. 167 
His longing for the valley below. Crevola’s loneliness. 
Louie’s return and sweet humility. 

CHAPTER XVII 

Gonzales buys a new shirt and scarlet sash. “Crevolawas 174 
a beautiful woman, and Gonzales was a man.” Gonzales’ 
camp. His story — his threat. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

Kate on a journey. Uncle Joe out of tobacco. The 183 
second night alone. A visitor out of the storm. “ It is 
I, Louie. Open the door! ” The second visitor. Morn¬ 
ing and Uncle Joe. 


CHAPTER XIX 

“ How long are you going to stand this? ” “ I? Oh, God 199 

knows.” 


CHAPTER XX 

Kate returns and Crevola goes to gather apples. The cedar 203 
grove and Cousin Ralph’s grave again. Louie declares 
himself. What makes marriage? Crevola’s last word. 

“ Everything had been said and a door had shut between 
them.” 


CHAPTER XXI 

The hardness and chill of virtue. Aunt Rachel fails fast. 215 
Imagination. From a lonely room into the dark 
beneath the stars. The cry of the wild stallion. Louie’s 
face in a lightning flash, and Louie’s voice through the 
dark. Silence and sleep. 

CHAPTER XXII 

Uncle Joe’s promise. Two nights on the mesa. Father 228 
Gregory’s council and approbation. Aunt Rachel’s ill¬ 
ness again. Uncle Joe goes after a doctor. 


X 


Contents 


CHAPTER XXIII 

Father Gregory exacts a promise. The death wail of the 239 
Wallipais. Kate’s dead baby. The battle of flesh and 
spirit. The silence of the Madonna. “ I can die as a 
de Grassi should.” The wild stallion’s call. A better 
way. Louie bears sad news to Kate. Kate’s denuncia¬ 
tion. “ What she says is untrue. You are as safe with 
me as if you were on your mother’s knee.” “ You 
think I want you only as men commonly want women; — 
it is something deeper. I want you as men want bread 
— and water.” Uncle Joe faints in time. The Navajo’s 
prayer. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

Dr. Franklin. The service of love. Piero de Grassi 257 
claims his true status. “ You cannot escape me, Crevola; 
never in the world.” 


CHAPTER XXV 

“You must release me, Father Gregory, from my promise. 268 
If not, I take my release, and God have mercy on my 
soul! ” Crevola tries to turn back the dial of the days. 

The tactics of a lover. The stronger woman. 

CHAPTER XXVI 

Neither coffee nor sugar for breakfast. Bruce Raleigh 287 
sends a post card from the Needles. The unreasoning 
jealousy of a lover. Kate’s interference. Gonzales 
renews his threat from behind a loaded rifle. 

CHAPTER XXVII 

A letter concerning a mortgage. Berold and an empty 297 
saddle. Crevola’s confession. The dust of defeat. 

CHAPTER XXVIII 

Navajo Kate shows her mettle. Uncle Joe goes on his last 310 
journey. Gonzales serves well his “ Senorita.” A new 
grave in the cedar grove. 

CHAPTER XXIX 

Bruce Raleigh’s sister. The laughter of children in the 328 
silent house. Old friends meet. Dessie teaches Crevola 
to laugh. The death of Father Gregory. A letter from 
a foreign land. 


Contents 


xi 


CHAPTER XXX 

Crevola tries to forget. A birthday party at which Crevola 338 
learns to dance. Bruce Raleigh plans a home. Aunt 
Rachel joins Uncle Joe. Crevola accepts Raleigh’s love. 

CHAPTER XXXI 

To California. A check at Seligman. The stallion’s last 348 
challenge. Louie’s message. Crevola’s hurried journey. 
Louie’s bedside. Mary is coming home. Louie’s plans 
for the future. Dr. Franklin’s decision. Crevola reads 
prayers for the dead. 

CHAPTER XXXII 

Raleigh again. “ Where is Crevola? ” Raleigh’s visit to 369 
the Ranch house. A nurse disobeys orders. “ The 
world is not easy on the woman who loses.” “ Wait, 
Bruce! Wait! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


“ On the knees of the gods.” 


383 



THE CLOSED ROAD 









THE CLOSED ROAD 


CHAPTER I 

The rosebushes, shoulder-high, hedging both 
sides of the flagged walk showed here and there, a 
hint of bloom. They were pink and yellow and 
sometimes a crimson one closely wrapped in its 
green calyx like some sweet secret about to be 
revealed. 

The house door creaked open and a slim girl 
came down the walk. The light wind flung the 
frivolous tendrils of her abundant hair of dead- 
leaf brown across her face, and catching back her 
thin white skirts, displayed her slender ankles. 
Passing the rosebushes, she stopped under the 
blossoming plum tree just outside the sagging gate, 
and her anxious glance sought the horizon. The 
faint, diagonal lines on her eyelids deepened, em¬ 
phasizing the anxiety in the wide-apart gray eyes. 
They were rather wonderful eyes, soft with a look 
of seeing beyond the natural range, deeper than 
the average depths; seeking eyes that had not yet 
found their object. Her pale cheek bore the 
transparent hue of one much indoors, and her 


4 


The Closed Road 


face the settled look of maturity. Yet the light 
grace of her girlish feet made it impossible to con¬ 
ceal her kinship to youth. 

As her searching glance swept the arc of her 
vision, her face fell into an apathetic calm. She 
saw only what she saw daily; the curved road 
leading up to the height where the gray-green 
mesquite bushes cut the intense blue of the Ari¬ 
zona sky at the edge of the mesa. Nothing moved 
that denoted life. 

She went out on the road. Overgrown with 
stunted junipers and low oak brush, it gave mute 
proof of the scant travel down to the isolated 
house under the brow of the height. It hid for a 
space in a clump of tall quaking aspens that quiv¬ 
ered in the wind, sending out many refractions of 
light from their glossy leaves; beyond there, it 
made a curving sweep along the face of the hill and 
ended, apparently in the sky. 

A hawk came out of the blue. The girl watched 
it tensely, her little closed fists pressed tightly 
together. The bird circled twice searching for its 
prey, then swooped suddenly downward. 

Mindful of its danger, a little gray cottontail 
scurried through a broken panel of the orchard 
fence, and vanished in the underbrush around the 
white boles of the aspen trees. 

The girl laughed a low, pleasant laugh of 
triumph. 

•“ Good for you, little cottontail! I am glad. 
And you greedy old hawk, don’t come here to 
catch my cottontails. Go away off over the 


The Closed Road 


5 


mountains.” She gestured with a commanding 
hand toward the sky line, and the baffled hawk, as 
if obeying her, flew with still poised wings back 
into the blue from whence he came. 

“ Crevola! ” The odd, thick voice came out 
through the open window of the house the girl had 
just left. 

“ Yes, Aunt.” Her face changed instantly to a 
sort of patient alertness. She quickly retraced her 
steps to the tall white house whose discolored walls 
showed dully through the surrounding guard of 
rosebushes and lofty cottonwoods. 

She crossed the screened porch and a big lonely 
room, where at the far end, glowed a handful of 
coals in a wide fireplace. 

Near the hearth in a wheel chair lay the huddled 
form of an old woman. The short, thick body lay 
inertly, with helpless hands stretched out on either 
arm of the chair. The swollen face, loose-lipped 
and vacant, was surrounded by a shock of short, 
grizzled hair. She turned her eyes, but not her 
face, toward Crevola in a sort of furtive look and 
asked in the same thick voice: 

“ Has your uncle come yet? ” 

The faint flash of interest in her face died at 
Crevola’s answer. She sighed. 

“ I thought I heard a horse neigh out on the 
mesa.” 

“ Maybe he hasn’t come in sight yet,” said the 
girl, gently humoring the paralytic as she adjusted 
the pillows. Aunt Rachel always heard a neighing 
horse as the time approached for her husband’s 


6 


The Closed Road 


return. “ Perhaps he will be here soon. Shall I 
read? ” 

Aunt Rachel closed her eyes in assent. The girl 
opened the glass doors of the old fashioned book¬ 
case. Richardson’s “ Pamela ” stood on the shelf, 
flanked on either side by “ Pilgrim’s Progress ” and 
“ The Children of the Abbey.” It did not matter 
what Crevola read, as Aunt Rachel never showed 
any signs of hearing; but once she had expressed 
a preference for Richardson’s hysterical heroine, 
so Crevola took down the thick volume and seated 
herself on a low chair near. 

For an hour her pleasantly monotonous voice 
sounded through the quiet room while the bright 
Arizona sunshine filtered through the vines at the 
west window. 

The invalid lay expressionless with closed eyes 
as Crevola read on and on. After a time the girl 
paused and looked up. Her aunt made no sign. 

The book fell down on her knee, face up, but she 
was no longer seeing it. She sat gazing at the 
helpless lump of flesh before her. 

Her quiet face did not change, and one could 
not tell what was going on behind her inscrutable 
eyes; only they seemed to be searching through 
an immeasurable space for — something beyond. 
Perhaps she was asking of life what it had in store 
for her. Finally she picked up the book and 
sighed. At the slight stir Aunt Rachel opened her 
eyes and asked: 

“ Has he come yet? ” 

The expression of patient alertness returned to 


The Closed Road 


7 


the girl’s face. She leaned forward. “ No, Aunt. 
Do you want to go to bed, now? ” 

Aunt Rachel closed her eyes and two tears, es- 
caping, trickled down her wrinkled face. 

“ Yes. Tell me when he comes, won’t you? ” 

“ As soon as I am sure I hear the horse.” Crev- 
ola returned “ Pamela ” to the shelf and wheeled 
the invalid into the bedroom. 

The task of getting the heavy, helpless body 
from chair to bed was a difficult one. It took all 
the girl’s strength, but she used it quite skillfully 
with certain twists and turns and props until it 
was accomplished, and Aunt Rachel lay sunk in 
among the high pillows, her almost repulsive face 
waiting for the kiss Crevola gave her. 

She took the invalid’s two soft, plump hands 
and placed them outside the coverlid where they 
lay as inert as the bed clothes. 

“ I’m going out to milk now,” she said. “ I 
will bring you your supper soon.” 

At the far end of the screened porch near the 
kitchen door, she took from a nail a shapeless 
allover apron of blue denim which covered her 
from neck to shoetops. Taking the milk pail 
from the shelf she swung down from the path 
toward the line of upright logs that made a corral. 
Pausing midway under the shade of the big cotton¬ 
wood tree she waited for the small lamb that came 
running after her bleating piteously. 

“ Now, Lamb,” Crevola sat down on a rock and 
the little creature nuzzled its head under her elbow 
and snuggled against her body. She tenderly 


8 


The Closed Road 


held it close for a moment, patting its pink nose 
with her fore finger. 

“ Hungry? ” she crooned; “ Little Pet Lamb, 
with no mother. In a few minutes/’ she promised, 
“ we will have warm, sweet milk.” 

A cow lowed long and urgently from the corral 
and a bell jangled violently. Crevola put the 
lamb from her gently and got up. 

“ Cactus is getting impatient with us, Lamb. 
I’ll have to hurry because if she is cross she’ll 
plant her foot in the bucket and spoil all the 
milk.” 

Her quick stride left the lamb behind. As she 
reached the corral the red and white cow stood 
chewing her cud and flapping flies with an im¬ 
patient tail. 

Crevola sat down with the pail between her 
knees, and her uncovered brown head pressed 
against cross Cactus’ red flank. The first thin 
tinkle of milk in the empty pail soon grew to a 
steady pour as the little working fingers moved 
swiftly up and down drawing out the foaming 
milk in two playing streams. The scent of the 
warm milk rose pleasantly to the girl’s nostrils, 
and Cactus, her distended udder relieved, quietly 
chewed her cud and her bell jangled faintly. 

With a full pail Crevola retraced her steps to 
the house, the lamb bleating at her heels. 

A flock of speckled chickens followed her, and a 
horse neighed from the barn. 

“ I’m coming, all of you,” she called, shutting 
the yard gate on the expectant hens; “ but I 


The Closed Road 


9 


must feed Lamb first because he is a baby and the 
rest of you are grownups. You must wait.” 

She poured milk for the lamb, satisfied the 
chickens with generous handfuls of red and yellow 
corn, wide flung like gleaming jewels on the ground. 
The hungry fowls gathered it up with eager bills. 

“ Greedy things! ” said the girl. “ Have you laid 
me any eggs? Remember, Lm not giving you 
that corn for nothing.” 

At the barn a gentle nicker greeted her. “ Want 
your supper, Prince? ” She laid a friendly hand 
on the sleek hip of the black horse and rubbed the 
sorrel's white nose as she passed between them. 

“ Of course you're starving. Everything is 
always wanting something to eat. This must be 
a hungry world.” 

She swung herself easily into the loft above the 
manger. She paused suddenly. “ I wonder if it 
is? It must be some kind of a world. Do you 
know, Prince? ” she addressed the black horse, — 
“ anything about all the world lying beyond the 
edge of the mesa, and way off on the other side of 
the mountain? You're a wise old horse.” 

But Prince only nickered suggestively after the 
delayed supper. 

“ Pshaw! ” She turned and plunged the pitch- 
fork into the mass of fragrant green hay smelling 
of dried clover blooms. “ Of course you can't 
think of such far-reaching things when your poor 
stomach is empty. Can you, Prince? ” 

A pink glow came into her pale cheek, and she 
paused, a little out of breath, leaning on the fork. 


10 


The Closed Road 


“You might thank me,” she suggested; “ but 
Prince and his mate, oblivious to everything, 
crunched and ground, and flung the sweet hay 
ankle deep on the floor. 

“ That’s the way! When things get to eating, 
they pay no more attention to me. Uncle is like 
that too. Oh—” With a face of dismay she 
rammed the fork into the hay and leaped out of 
the mow. “ What made me? How could I for¬ 
get to give Aunt Rachel her supper! ” 

Hurrying out of the barn she looked again 
toward the horizon. The sun still shone on the 
distant mountain peaks, but twilight had gathered 
in among the cedars by the laughing creek, the 
luminous twilight of the South. 

In the house she had to light a lamp to get 
Aunt Rachel’s bread and milk. In the bedroom 
the old woman lay exactly as Crevola had placed 
her, her head sunk in the pillows, with the plump, 
inert hands outside the patchwork quilt. 

“ Aunt Rachel!” Crevola slipped off the denim 
apron, emerging like a white flower from a rough 
sheath. 

The woman opened her eyes heavily. “ Has he 
come yet? ” 

“ I haven’t seen him.” Crevola sat down by the 
bed and began to feed the invalid with a spoon. 
She ate messily, with difficulty, the milk oozing 
out from between her lips; but she ate greedily 
until the bowl was empty. 

Rising, the girl tucked the covers about her 


The Closed Road 


11 


aunt’s chin and took the bowl out into the kitchen. 
Then with no mind herself to eat, she went out¬ 
side again on the road, still looking toward the 
rim of the mesa. That rim was the boundary of 
her world; and always she fancied it dropped 
sheerly down on the other side. Who vanished 
over the edge, vanished indeed to Crevola. She 
did not remember when she had come in over 
that rim, she was too small; but she remembered 
the last time she had gone beyond it, to Flagstaff. 
Her aunt was well then and stirring about cheerful 
and kindly; and Uncle Joe did not go so often to 
Camp Verde on sprees, leaving them alone. She 
still thought of Flagstaff as an enchanted place, 
all the streets gay with goldenrod after the sum¬ 
mer rains, and San Francisco Mountain behind, 
sharp and purple, capped with snow. 

It was a wonderful house, too, where she had 
stayed. There was music, and laughter and con¬ 
fusion; the swinging of doors and the scampering 
of eager feet through hall and chamber. Nothing 
was ever dull and quiet there! 

She brought her attention back to the fading 
glow on the horizon. Her searching eyes saw 
something — a moving speck against the bright¬ 
ness. It merged into the shadow and came swing¬ 
ing down the slope — a horse and its rider. 

She drew a quick breath of relief and turned 
toward the house. 

As the horse neared, disappointment fell on her 
face. This was not Grey Bell, her uncle’s horse; 
but dark, black it looked against the evening glow. 


12 


The Closed Road 


She stood still in the road until the traveler drew 
rein and spoke to her. 

She saw a man, young, lithe, his face in shadow 
under a wide brimmed hat. He was astride a 
splendid red horse which arrested her attention 
even in that land of well bred horses. She did not 
answer the traveler’s greeting. She forgot him in 
looking at the most magnificent horse she had 
ever seen. 

He stood very tall with a mighty breadth and 
depth of chest and shoulder, and they were flecked 
with bloody foam flung from his bit. It gave her 
a feeling of pain. Her glance went downward 
over his well muscled legs that tapered to bone 
and sinew like the flat, clean shanks of a deer. 
From his shining unshod hoofs her glance rose 
again to his proudly poised head, wide at the top, 
narrowing to thin, spreading nostrils lined with 
flame. His fine, pointed ears stood erect, his big, 
dark eyes blazed with fire. His trappings were 
gorgeous with carved leather and silver mountings, 
and large sapphire blue stones glittered on either 
side of his bridle. 

Her face glowed. Impulsively she put out her 
hand toward him. 

The stallion laid his ears flat and bared his 
teeth savagely. 

“ Take care! ” With a quick jerk of the vicious 
bit the man set the horse back on its haunches and 
as it reared and plunged backward its great eyes 
gleaming fire, its nostrils glowing red within, he 


The Closed Road 


13 


leaped from the saddle and stood beside the horse, 
his heavy riding quirt in readiness. 

“ Don’t touch him! ” he commanded. 

She flung a fearless look at him, her shoulders 
straight, her head erect. “ Don’t whip him. He 
will understand in a minute.” 

With a low word she went nearer, and laid her 
hand on the stallion’s arrogantly arched neck; 
her hand slipped to his quivering nostrils. 

With ears still angrily flat, he eyed her with 
savage suspicion, he trembled and snorted; but he 
submitted to her touch. 

The man looked at her in amazement and ad¬ 
miration; but he said curtly: “ Stand back! You 
don’t know your danger. I don’t know who you 
are, but, by George! ” he added, his somber face 
alight, “ you are the only woman who ever dared 
lay a finger on Berold. But don’t do it again.” 

“ I’m not afraid. And when one is not afraid 
there is no danger,” she answered quaintly. 

He laughed skeptically and swept off his hat 
with a graceful gesture. He turned to the horse. 

“ Do you hear that, Berold, you man eater? 
Get down on your knees to the lady who isn’t 
afraid of you! ” He swung his quirt with a quick 
twitch and struck the horse lightly across the 
knees. 

The stallion tossed his splendid mane across his 
eyes in arrogant defiance; but he knelt and bent 
his head until his muzzle touched the ground. 

Crevola looked up at the man, her face glowing 
like a cactus bloom. She laid her slim brown hand 


14 


The Closed Road 


on the stallion’s wide forehead, covering the tiny 
white star there. 

He allowed her touch for one instant, and with 
a plunge regained his feet amid a swirl of flying 
gravel. He lunged backward to the limit of his 
long bridle reins and snorted his displeasure. 

“ Who taught him to do that? ” she cried 
eagerly. “It is wonderful! Where did he come 
from? ” She flung her glance toward the man 
who stood looking at her with a peculiar specula¬ 
tive fascination in his face. 

His white teeth showed for an instant in a 
smile. Still aware of the danger she unconsciously 
courted, his vigilance of the horse did not relax; 
but he bowed again, the smile leaped to his eyes 
and remained there. 

“ Berold is a king. He recognizes his equals and 
kneels to his peers.” Again his lips smiled with 
his eyes. “ He is mine, and I am Louie Barbano.” 
He said it arrogantly, as if the name meant some¬ 
thing. 

His tone, of a sudden, gave him a personality 
that had been absorbed by her interest in the 
horse; she became conscious of a man. She had 
not seen many men, and certainly not one like 
this. He stood with alert, easy grace, his head 
proudly poised, a heavy revolver at his hip. His 
leather chaps were worn with much service, but 
his buckskin shirt was fresh and new, fringed and 
beaded with silver beads, and silver spurs clanked 
at the heels of his riding boots. He held his wide 
sombrero in his hand and kept the impatient stal- 


The Closed Road 


15 


lion in check as he turned his thin, dark Italian 
face, and bent his big black eyes on her from his 
considerable height. 

“ I ask for a night’s lodging for me and my 
horse.” 

The brightness vanished from her face again as 
a shade drawn over a lighted window. “ We 
can’t keep you,” she said regretfully. 

He looked at her intently, the smile only on his 
lips. 

“ Why? Isn’t this the Bronson place? ” 

11 Yes. But we can’t keep you.” 

“ Why? ” he asked again. Louie Barbano was 
not used to refusals. “ It is a case of charity. 
We have come many miles since sunrise. We 
can’t push on tonight. Berold is tired and 
hungry.” 

She caught the trace of jesting in his tone, and 
her glance swept the great horse pawing the earth 
impatient to be gone. 

“He tired!” She laughed her unbelief, her 
eyes ashine. “We have no place to keep a horse 
like him.” 

“ Many a night the end of a lariat has been his 
stable,” said Louie Barbano pleasantly, and 
waited for her answer. 

“ There is a sheep camp farther on,” she sug¬ 
gested. The little closed fists beat themselves 
softly together. 

“ Berold does not like the smell of sheep.” 

“ I am sorry for that,” she shook her head; 
“ but it is impossible for you to stay here.” 


16 


The Closed Road 


Louie Barbano was not easily discouraged. 
“ Berold and I are quiet guests,” he said pleas¬ 
antly, resting an admiring glance on her flushed 
face, “ and are easily satisfied. Can I see Mr. 
Bronson? ” Mr. Bronson might be more approach¬ 
able, thought Louie. 

“ He’s not at home.” 

“ No? Then who is here besides yourself? ” 

“ No one. I am alone.” 

“ Alone! ” He drew his black brows together. 
“ Alone, here? You! Surely not! ” 

“ With my aunt who is paralyzed,” she ex¬ 
plained, looking steadily at him. “ You can see 
how impossible it is for us to keep anyone.” 

“ But he will return tonight, surely? ” 

“ I’m afraid not. Often he doesn’t.” 

Louie Barbano looked at her trying to determine 
if her bold front were real; but he retreated baffled 
by the expression of her wide gray eyes. He felt 
rather helpless as one facing an unscalable height. 
He shook it off, trying to recall what he had 
heard of Bronson’s place; nothing marked, noth¬ 
ing notorious or he would have remembered it. 
Besides the girl did not look like a decoy; there 
was nothing alluring in that direct gaze which 
almost made a man blink like a too-brilliant 
light. 

She waited, her little closed fists fitted together 
under her chin. Evidently it was his play; but 
Louie felt that he did not have the run of the cards. 
He looked, as he felt, baffled; but he spoke. 

“ You don’t mean to tell me that you are here 


The Closed Road 


17 


alone with a helpless invalid? There is a man, 
someone, somewhere about the place? ” 

“ There’s no one — except as I have said.” 

“ Then I shall stay by all means. You shouldn’t 
be here alone in a place like this.” 

Her direct gaze broke like the disturbed surface 
of a pool; but her voice was low and composed. 

“ I am used to it. It is not at all necessary 
that you should stay. Few people come this way. 
I never think of danger.” 

“ Perhaps not; but danger is sometimes near 
when we expect it least. I shall make my camp 
under that big cottonwood tree near the stable.” 
So Louie Barbano led the way toward the house. 

Crevola did not follow. She stood looking at 
the pair until he paused and came back to where 
she had not moved from her place. 

“ Don’t let me frighten you,” he said with a 
reassuring smile. “ Though I am going to stay 
here tonight, I shall not trouble you.” 

“ I am not frightened,” she said wonderingly. 
“ But you don’t seem to understand that you must 
not stay. I’m sure Uncle won’t like it.” 

“ I wouldn’t say that Uncle is much concerned 
about your doings, he seems to leave you pretty 
much to your own devices,” said Louie Barbano 
dryly. “ As I say, I only ask room to drive my 
lariat stake and rest my saddle; and a pint of 
oats for Berold, if you have it. I gave him my 
last at noon. We shall leave at daybreak. Be¬ 
lieve me,” he continued earnestly, “ you mustn’t 
be here alone tonight. A shocking thing occurred 


18 


The Closed Road 


night before last at the Capstan ranch near 
Jerome. Only one member of the family escaped. 
The murderers, two Mexicans, were headed this 
way.” 

“I’m not afraid,” she repeated, but with less 
certainty. 

“ No, I can see that,” he said seriously; “ but 
there is real danger nevertheless, and courage is 
not always a defense. I am thinking only of 
you,” he assured her because she was still regard¬ 
ing him with untroubled eyes. “ I ask nothing 
for myself except the privilege of being near in 
case danger should come.” 

She did not say anything to this, so taking her 
silence for permission, he smiled again and led 
Berold to the big cottonwood that stood midway 
between the house and the stable. There he un¬ 
saddled and made camp for the night. 

Crevola went slowly back to the house and 
watched him through the kitchen window. His 
preparations were very simple. He tethered 
Berold at the end of a lariat, rolled himself a ciga¬ 
rette, and sat down on a big outcropping rock 
close by. 

It didn’t look a very comfortable preparation 
for the night. Perhaps this strange man and his 
wonderful horse were hungry — that was hard! 
She remembered that she herself had not eaten. 
She hesitated. Berold was reaching thriftily for 
the scant tufts of grass, and the man sat on the 
rock smoking. It looked rather cheerless. She 
made a sudden decision. It might not be the 


The Closed Road 


19 


right thing to do; but she put on her blue apron, 
replenished the fire and went about preparing 
supper for two. When it was ready she got a can 
of oats and approached the cottonwood tree. 

It was almost dark, now. The man had re¬ 
moved his chaps and spurs and sat with his back 
to the tree. He made no sign of hearing her light 
footfall until she spoke diffidently: “ I have 
brought the grain. Berold mustn’t go hungry.” 
Her glance went past him to the great horse 
straining at the end of his tether. 

Louie Barbano leaped up, flung away his ciga¬ 
rette and bared his head. “ You shouldn’t have 
brought it down,” he chided gently, as he took 
the can from her. “ Berold is in your debt.” 

“ I have supper for you if you will come.” 

“ No, no! Don’t think of me.” 

“ I have it ready.” 

“ So soon? ” 

She turned away her direct gaze. u It isn’t 
much, but—” 

He smiled. “ You have saved my life. I must 
confess to being very hungry; and Berold will 
never forget your kindness. Shall we feed him 
first? ” He unstrapped the nose bag from his 
saddle, emptied the grain into it and buckled it 
on Berold’s head. Evidently he was not afraid of 
the stallion, but they watched each other guard¬ 
edly. He came to her and together they walked 
toward the house, he taking mental notes of his 
odd little hostess, and she, almost silent, making 
grave, short answers to his inconsequential talk. 


20 


The Closed Road 


One lighted window to the right of the walk 
seemed the only sign of life about the big house. 
They passed up the flagged walk, she opened the 
door and bade him into the kitchen. 

When Louie entered the wide room, behind his 
hostess, he was most pleasantly impressed. He 
liked the shiny range, the neat cupboard and the 
window, curtained with a bit of coarse white mus¬ 
lin. On the shelf inside sat a box of wild core¬ 
opsis with its brown and yellow blossoms swaying 
in the wind. 

The table, too, looked inviting with its white 
cloth and a few sprays of plum blossoms in a clear 
glass bottle. An appetizing odor came from the 
hot soup which Crevola immediately poured out 
as she bade him sit down. It all struck him with 
a peculiar sense of charm. The girl herself seemed 
to have lost her distant air. She looked very 
sweet in her thin white cotton dress with her 
cheeks reddened from the heat of the stove. 

“You have gone to too much trouble/’ he said, 
drawing out her chair for her. He took the one 
opposite and smiled as a friend across the table. 
“ I appreciate it very much.” 

During the rather frugal meal, Louie Barbano 
studied his hostess under the cover of his light 
talk. But simple as she seemed, she baffled him; 
he felt that he could not find the key to her. She 
had an odd trick of stopping him at the surface by 
a direct glance from her gray eyes. Strange eyes. 
They gave him the impression of looking into clear 
water that becomes opaque through its very depth. 


The Closed Road 


21 


Entirely unconscious of any unusual effect on 
him, unconscious of herself, Crevola sat and 
listened to him, fascinated; her face changing and 
glowing with her passing emotions like morning 
clouds. When they finished eating she suggested 
that they sit outside on the flagged walk. “ It is 
cooler. Uncle and I keep our chairs out there/’ 
she said leading the way. 

In the lea of the rose hedges Louie Barbano 
again took his seat opposite her, where he could 
watch her face by the light that shone from the 
window. He thought he had never seen a face so 
delicate and so responsive. 

“ And here you and Uncle sit and talk! ” 

“ We don’t talk much,” she said seriously. 
“ Uncle is very deaf and —” she hesitated slightly; 
“ He doesn’t care to talk. I think he has nothing 
to say to me. He smokes and I crochet, if it 
isn’t too dark; or else I sit and watch the stars. 
Do you want to smoke? ” 

“ If I may.” Louie Barbano rolled a cigarette 
in silence; his mind very busy. What a face! 
What eyes! Who was she? Why had he not 
found her before? How, in all his vagrant jour¬ 
neying across the Territory had he missed her? 
And why did she live such a life in such a place? 
He would find out if her eyes did not stop him. 


CHAPTER II 


She sat perfectly still, her hands folded across her 
lap; and he smoked on in a silence she made no 
effort to break. It was very pleasant out there in 
spite of the mosquitoes whining their vicious song. 
Above, long, gleaming meteor tracks sped across 
the sky ; and the feeling of nature came very near 
on the scent of alfalfa bloom and the ripple of 
water flowing over the stones of the creek below. 
He waited, breathing deeply, holding himself with 
instinctive caution as one who steps over danger¬ 
ous places in the dark. 

“ Is it too dark to crochet now?” he asked as one 
who must say something. 

“ Yes,” she answered. “ I can’t see the thread. 
And I don’t want to crochet now— I thought 
you would talk to me — if you’re not sleepy.” 

“ Sleepy! ” he laughed. “ I am never sleepy. 
I could sit here and talk to you until sunrise.” 

“ All night? ” she said with frank incredulity; 
“ I never heard of anyone sitting up all night to 
talk — and to me! ” 

Again he laughed, and watched her with nar¬ 
rowed eyes. He did not make another gallant 
speech; yet he felt that she put him on his mettle, 
although she sat there so quietly. She listened 
breathlessly as he talked. He had the gift of 


The Closed Road 


23 


telling. Many unfamiliar pictures of the outside 
world he drew for her, and made them vivid. 

Crevola was carried out of herself. She forgot 
all about Aunt Rachel; she forgot Uncle Joe’s 
taciturnity, and his strong pipe; she forgot to 
watch the falling stars as they blazed across the 
sky; and she did not notice the rising moon until 
its light showed her the animated face of her guest 
as he talked, and smoked many cigarettes. 

From his travels and adventures he drifted to 
more personal matters, and told her of his cattle 
ranch fifty miles north of Seligman where his 
thousands of long-horned cattle ranged the almost 
trackless uplands. He described his big stone 
house with the garden and the court, and the bell 
tower that tolled the hours. He drew with vivid 
words a picture of the little chapel facing the west; 
the adobe houses at the far end of the court, of 
the fountain in the center, playing always except 
in winter when it froze until it looked like a bride 
under her veil. 

“ How can you leave it? ” she cried; “ so lovely a 
place? ” 

He laughed shortly as one brought to conscious¬ 
ness of himself. 

“ I like your kitchen better, with its shining 
stove and the wild flower in the window.” 

“ Oh, no! You cannot! Do you live there 
alone? ” 

He paused a moment to roll another cigarette. 
“ I have my foreman and guests sometimes,” he 
said. 


24 


The Closed Road 


“ No woman? ” 

The lighted match glowed on his face for a 
minute; it went out and he extinguished the red 
coal. “ The foreman is married and there are 
Indian women.” 

“ But that doesn’t make home for you. Uncle 
says there is no home without a woman. Such a 
lovely place! But it seems incomplete — I mean 
— without—” She paused in doubt, feeling 
somehow a jarring note enter into their inter¬ 
course. 

“ You mean without someone for me,” he sup¬ 
plied readily. His tone had a hard ring that 
escaped her. “ Yes,” he went on; “it is — 
often — incomplete.” He smoked steadily for 
many minutes. Sometimes the end of his ciga¬ 
rette glowed until it lighted his face clearly; all 
the animation had gone out, and his eyes were 
moody and dark. 

Crevola sat quite still, mentally groping for the 
reason for the sudden change in his manner, until 
he stirred restlessly and began to talk again in his 
low voice. “ Do you want to go in? ” 

She looked dismayed. “ Oh, no! ” 

“ I am not tiring you? ” 

“ No, no! ” she said again almost pleadingly, 
brought back to the bald realization of her life. 
“ You have no idea how dreadful that lonely 
house is — cracking and groaning — I can’t sleep. 
It is awful! Please don’t go —” She stopped 
suddenly — “ unless you would rather.” 

A smile illumined his face again. “You are 


The Closed Road 


25 


good to let me stay. I don’t feel that I could 
sleep, and it’s more pleasant, isn’t it, to sit here 
talking, than to lie and toss on a wakeful pillow? ” 
“ It is to me. And I want to know something 
about the Indians. Are there many? Why are 
they there? Are they the Navajos? ” 

Apparently returning to his former manner, he 
answered her several questions in the order that it 
suited him. 

“ No, they are the Wallipais. I don’t know 
how many — a dozen houses, I should say. They 
do my work. The men ride for me, and the 
women — there are tasks for them. Very hand¬ 
some some of them are; but not like the Navajos. 
The Navajos are tall and straight as young aspen 
trees, with fine, narrow faces and graceful carriage. 
There is one at the ranch, one Navajo.” 

He paused for no apparent reason. The pause 
was a marked one. She felt again that odd chill. 
He went on: “ She is from the Indian school at 
Truxton — Kate, we call her. She was raised in 
the priest’s family and is well educated; but she 
is pure Navajo. One of my riders, a man from 
Texas, married her. He was killed, poor fellow! 
He thought he could manage Berold. But Kate 
lives there still in her own house.” He stopped as 
one who had exhausted the subject. 

“ Alone? ” asked Crevola pityingly. “ Doesn’t 
she want to go back to her own people? ” 

“ Yes, alone. I don’t know. She seems con¬ 
tent. But I haven’t told you about Berold,” he 
said dismissing the subject of the Navajo. “ You 


26 


The Closed Road 


asked me where he came from. He is mine; but 
I didn’t tell you how I came by him. You have 
heard of the wild bands? ” 

“ Yes,” she assented eagerly; “ once when I 
was very little we were driving through the moun¬ 
tains and a beautiful black horse sprang up and 
dashed into the wood. Uncle told me if I could 
catch him he would be mine. How I used to lie 
awake nights trying to think of some way to cap¬ 
ture him! And sleeping, I would dream that he 
was mine! ” 

He laughed sympathetically. “ You are not 
the only one who has lain awake and schemed; or 
slept and dreamed the chase victoriously ended. 
When I first saw Berold, I was possessed to own 
him. Men said he could not be captured. Many 
had tried and failed. It pleased me to try. I 
knew that I could do it.” 

The story he told was a long one, and the girl 
listened tensely. He told how he stalked the wild 
stallion for many months, living like a wild man 
and tireless as the great horse himself. He carried 
her in the telling far across the plains of Utah; 
the rugged wastes of Wyoming; the well-nigh 
impassable canyons of Colorado; across the 
Painted Desert and the far Navajo lands. 

“ Twice I lost him,” he said; “ and I can’t tell 
you how keen was my disappointment. He was 
a wily fellow with almost human intelligence, and 
the instinct of the desert born added. I tracked 
him for three months and lost him; again for five 
months and lost him. But I went again. By 


The Closed Road 


27 


that time he was the one desire of my life. I ate, 
and drank, and slept just to be able to keep up 
the chase. I can’t give you any idea how the 
desire for him took hold of me, as if it were eating 
me up. And at the end of four months I trapped 
him and finally tamed him, and he is mine” He 
drew a breath of relief at having come again in 
memory to the end of that long strain. 

Crevola too, sank back with a sigh, the tension 
which the long, exciting story gave her, over. 
“ What patience you must have! ” she said. 

He drew his brows together. “ No, it isn’t 
patience, but rather impatience; or the joy of 
pursuing if you will. When I want a thing I 
can’t rest or sleep until I try for it; and then I 
can’t sleep or rest until it is mine.” He gave a 
quick, impatient sigh. “ But nearly everything 
comes too easily, the end comes too soon. Many 
times I wish that Berold were wild and free again 
that I could have it all over. Don’t you feel that 
way about things sometimes? ” 

“ No, I don’t know how to go about getting 
things that don’t come readily. How do you keep 
up your courage? ” 

“I? I am never discouraged. Sometimes one 
must put out greater effort, but that is better, 
isn’t it, to win in the end? ” He lifted his head 
arrogantly. “ I have not yet found anything I 
could not win or take. But there is one thing I 
long for that I have never yet found.” 

She looked bewildered. She did not ask him 
what it was; but she wondered what possible 


28 


The Closed Road 


thing he could have missed, he who had done, 
seen, and possessed so much. She said nothing; 
so he began talking again. “ I didn’t brand my 
horse. He is mine, but he is a maverick yet.” 

“ How glad I am! ” she cried eagerly. “ It 
would be terrible to brand him, a king! Even 
though you might lose him.” 

“ I shall not lose him. All Arizona knows that 
he is mine; and men don’t meddle lightly with 
Louie Barbano’s property.” 

His hard, arrogant tone made her shiver; but 
he dispelled the feeling as he went on: “You will 
not meet another man like me.” He paused, and 
then resumed impetuously: “ I want to tell you 
something about myself, something that I have 
never told anyone.” 

She folded her hands tensely, ‘composing herself 
to listen to further strange revelations from this 
strange person. A shifting moonbeam revealed 
her face bright as a cactus bloom on the desert; 
yet only her eyes questioned him. 

“ I have told you,” he began with scant pre¬ 
liminary; “ that I am Louie Barbano, though I 
pass by that name through the kindness of the 
real Louie Barbano who befriended my mother 
when I was born. My parents were Italians of 
the titled class. My father, Count Piero de 
Grassi, must have been a disturber, for he offended 
the Italian Government and paid for it with his 
life, his property, and the safety of his young wife. 

“ In the midst of all the confusion that followed 
on the heels of his undoing, my mother, with the 


The Closed Road 


29 


help of friends, fled with me, unborn, to America. 
Can you understand her plight? She was young, 
as yourself, only seventeen and far more ignorant, 
for she knew nothing of the world outside my 
father’s terraced gardens.” 

“ I can imagine,” breathed the girl. “ How 
terrible it must have been! ” 

“ She didn’t fare well in America, of course; but 
in the poor place that gave her shelter was a 
young Italian vegetable vender and his wife, who 
befriended her in the name of Italy. She didn’t 
need their help long, my poor little mother! ” 
His voice sank low. “ I don’t like to remember 
this —” 

“ Then don’t tell it,” pleaded Crevola. 

He shook his head. “ It is part of the story, a 
very important part—” he paused—“for there 
was I,” he went on more steadily; “ yelling lustily, 
I suppose for what the world owed me. So Louie 
Barbano took me, gave me his name and I grew 
up among his brood. I hoed, washed, and carted 
the vegetables, ate garlic, and fought in the streets 
with the other little Dagos; and they quickly 
found me more than their match. Later I learned 
to drive sharp bargains and became old Louie’s 
favorite son, for I was sharper and quicker than 
the rest. 

“ When old Louie, dying, told me my mother’s 
story, I knew then why I had always felt such 
contempt for the clean little shop and Mother 
Barbano’s coarse and tawdry rooms. And why I 
had felt so superior to the whole lot of greasy- 


30 


The Closed Road 


haired Barbano brothers and cousins. The blood 
of my father’s race refused to affiliate with the life 
of the Barbanos. I was in reality Count Piero de 
Grassi. 

“ I have never told anvone for obvious reasons. 

%/ 

But I know it, and live by it; it is the pivot of my 
life. I am not Louie Barbano, I am Count Piero 
de Grassi.” He straightened in his seat and 
lifted his head, proving his words by his haughty 
mien. 

Crevola sat tensely still, her lips parted, her 
hands tightly clasping each other. She felt that 
she should say something, but she could not 
think of anything; so she was glad when he went 
on. 

“ Old Louie left several thousand dollars for 
each one of us, for he was thrifty and moreover he 
knew how to raise good vegetables. I took my 
share and left them. I prospered, for as I said, I 
had learned old Louie’s ways. When I was able 
I sent back my share to Mother Barbano, for 
after all, I was not their blood, and she, like old 
Louie, had loved me as a son.” 

His story ended, Louie Barbano sat silent and 
Crevola remained silent still. It was such a 
wonderful story, like those on Uncle Joe’s book 
shelves — too wonderful for any comment of hers. 
She saw it all as he had told it, the pathetic little 
girl mother, the coarse and kindly Barbanos; yet 
she sat very still while the mosquitoes whined 
about the rose hedges, the water rippled below, 
and faintly, far off a night bird called. 


The Closed Road 


31 


Receiving no word from her, he spoke again: 
“ I have never told this story before.” 

Crevola roused herself and asked with simple 
directness: “ Why have you told it to me? ” 

He changed his position, leaning nearer her. 
“ I don’t know,” he answered thoughtfully, “ I 
don’t know at all. Perhaps it’s because I have 
never met anyone with eyes like yours; a per¬ 
sonality like yours that impresses itself even on 
Berold, and makes him tame in vour hands. 
Perhaps — I wished to assume more importance in 
your eyes. Perhaps it is only the desire a man has 
sometimes to share his inmost life with a woman. 
Or —” he leaned back in his chair, but he did not 
look at her — “ perhaps it’s because I have lied to 
you once tonight.” 

“ Lied! To me? ” 

“ I have a wife,” he said; “ and a child.” 

A faint exclamation of surprise broke from her 
lips. She bent forward in her chair clasping the 
arms with her hands, her face full of wonder. She 
pierced him with her eyes. Her conception of 
him changed swiftly at this tardy admission. 
Why need he have made it? Why make any need 
for it in the beginning? Her thought found ex¬ 
pression in words, in her low, wondering voice. 

“ I don’t know,” he said again, meeting her 
eyes squarely. He knew well why he had denied 
his wife. It was because he resented, as always, 
her intrusion even into the most trivial event of 
his life. But he asked himself what prompted 
him to tell this girl. 


32 


The Closed Road 


“ Haven’t you ever told your wife? ” she asked. 

He straightened. “ Mary! ” he cried violently; 
“ Good God, no! What a question! You don’t 
know —” He checked himself. “ I beg your 
pardon! ” He rose abruptly. “ I am keeping 
you out here too long. I forget how the time 
passes.” 

Crevola, too, rose, perplexed and startled by the 
sudden change in his manner. She moved toward 
the house, but he detained her. 

“ You understand, I am sure,” he said; “ why 
this story of my birth seems so much to me? ” 

“ I don’t know whether I do or not,” she an¬ 
swered slowly. “ Does it matter so much to you? 
You seem to have everything one could want.” 

“ Everything? ” 

“ Haven’t you? You have wealth, and liberty 
to come and go as you please. You do go every¬ 
where? You have many interests beside your 
home. You have your wife and child.” 

He made a quick gesture of impatience. “ You 
don’t know what you are talking about,” he said 
harshly. “ You can’t understand in the least 
how it is —” Again he checked himself. “ But 
you have been very good to me tonight. Now tell 
me why you are here alone in this place. What 
kind of a man leaves you here alone, a possible 
prey to any wild beast that roams this wild 
country? ” 

She answered simply. “ My uncle is very kind 
and good to me; but when he takes a desire for 
drink, he goes after it — that is all. And there is 


The Closed Road 


33 


nothing for me to do but wait until he comes. It 
is sometimes overnight, sometimes several days. 
Fm not afraid —” 

“ Not afraid? Good Heavens! ” 

“ Few people come here. Uncle doesn’t let 
people stay here because he is afraid someone who 
used to know him will come. But it is very lonely 
because Aunt isn’t — anything — hardly,” she 
said slowly. 

“ Someone who used to know him? ” he began, 
but he could not pursue that thought; her eyes 
were so clear. If there was shame, she could not 
know of it. He took a small automatic from his 
pocket. 

“ Here, take this. Can you shoot? It isn’t 
company, but it may be protection sometime. 

She hesitated. “ Yes, I can shoot; but I don’t 
think I need it.” 

“ Take it. I hope that you may never need it; 
but I shall feel more satisfied if I know that you 
have it.” He pressed it into her hand, and 
paused, standing so still looking down on her that 
she moved away from him in something like fear. 

Her action roused him. “ I thank you, Miss 
Bronson, for your hospitality and your com¬ 
panionship.” He smiled a pleasant, disarming 
smile. “ We almost became friends tonight, 
didn’t we? ” 

Her direct gaze and artless answer pleased him, 
but he refused further hospitality. “ No, thank 
you. You are very kind; but I am used to the 
night air. A blanket is all I need and I have one 


34 


The Closed Road 


under my saddle/’ He bade her good night and 
disappeared in the dark. A moment later she 
heard his low voice speaking to Berold. 

For the first time Crevola noticed that the night 
was far gone and the air chill. Trembling with 
excitement and cold she slipped into the dark 
house and into her aunt’s chamber. It wasn’t 
lonely and horrible now; she had too many other 
things to think about. Aunt Rachel lay very still 
in her bed, her stertorous breathing told of her 
heavy slumber. 

The moonlight shone on the floor, a distorted 
rectangle of light falling across the sleeper’s face. 
Crevola lit a small lamp and set it on a high, old 
fashioned chest of drawers, and turned to lower 
the window curtain. She paused for a few 
minutes looking out into the moonlit yard where 
the budding roses swayed dreamily in the gentle 
wind. 

Pulling down the shade she undressed slowly, 
taking down her long hair that fell around her in 
a fine brown cloud. She braided it and tied a 
little ruffled nightcap securely on, the strings 
under her chin, making her, in her long gown, 
resemble a tall white poppy getting ready to bloom. 
She slipped to the door of her uncle’s room ad¬ 
joining. The bed with its gray and white blanket, 
was undisturbed, and a pair of old boots lay at 
right angles on the floor. 

Going back into Aunt Rachel’s room, she put 
out the light and slipped into a narrow cot along 
the wall opposite her aunt’s bed. 


The Closed Road 


35 


But she could not sleep. Her mind rehearsed 
the wonderful events of the past few hours; and 
the tricks of voice and manner of her strange 
visitor, and his amazing stories — almost like the 
Arabian Nights. They were just as marvelous 
and far more real. And his wife! What was she 
like? Why wasn’t he happy in his beautiful home? 
If he did not love her, why did he marry her? 
Thus, puzzling and asking endless questions for 
which there were no answers, at last her eyelids 
grew heavy with sleep. She slept, and never 
knew that Louie Barbano spent the night on the 
stone flags of the walk, for the greater safety of the 
household. 

She awoke at dawn. Aunt Rachel still slept; 
her difficult breath issuing harshly from between 
her parted lips. 

The morning light peeked in through a slit in 
the shade. Crevola rubbed her eyes sleepily and 
stretched her round arms above her head, strug¬ 
gling to awake. Why did she feel so drowsy? Oh! 
— Memory came with a rush. Wide awake she 
flung the covers back, slipped out of bed, and ran 
to the window in her bare, pink feet to look out. 

Everything appeared the same as it always did, 
except for the circle of trampled ground around 
the cottonwood, and two half-burned cigarettes 
lying on the worn gray flags. 

Disappointment filled her face. The wonderful 
incident was done. She would never see Louie 
Barbano or the great horse again. Slowly she 
took off the little cap and combed out her long 


36 


The Closed Road 


braids. Then she hurried with her dressing be¬ 
cause Aunt Rachel stirred and began to show signs 
of awakening. 

The day passed as usual, but she could not find 
interest in her work, and the hours seemed very 
long; but midnight brought her uncle fumbling 
drunkenly at the door. As she opened it, she 
heard far off on the mesa, the shrill cry of a 
stallion. 


CHAPTER III 


When Louie saw the old man headed safely 
down the slope, he turned and struck northward 
across the mesa. Though he had ridden since 
dawn, there was no hint of weariness in his figure 
as he sat in the saddle. Through the luminous 
Arizona night they went, he and the great horse, 
and mile after mile passed swiftly under Berold’s 
tireless feet. Distances were nothing to either; 
and they made their own track across a trackless 
country, straight as a line drawn on the surface of 
a map. 

Louie’s thoughts were busy as he rode; and 
they centered around the girl at Bronson’s, her 
youth, her loneliness, the real danger of her situa¬ 
tion which she faced with the courage of igno¬ 
rance. What if danger should come to her? 
What would she do? What could she do? And 
laying aside acute danger, what horrible hours of 
loneliness! The old man was bad enough; and the 
aunt — he had not seen the aunt, but he recalled 
the girl’s: “ Aunt isn’t — anything — hardly.” 
It was a case for the Territorial Government to 
interfere! She should have a woman there. 
“ Good God! ” he cried aloud, “ She should have 
something! ” 



38 


The Closed Road 


His sudden curse disturbed the stillness of the 
night, and Berold quickened his long stride. 

A mere girl, with such eyes looking out of her 
pale face! Something must be done — if he 
could only think of the right thing to do. “ And 
I will! ” Again he spoke aloud as one does who 
travels alone, and again Berold forged ahead. 

Louie had great faith in himself. All his life he 
had put his trust in himself and he had not failed 
him. Men knew him throughout Arizona as a 
rich cattle man from the North, who carried a 
free hand, a bold tongue, and a quick gun. But 
to himself he was always Count Piero de Grassi, 
and as that he felt himself invincible. 

Woman knew him from another point of view, 
for Louie Barbano paid court to many women. 
And among them he sought a woman; not the 
woman Louie Barbano might win and take, but 
the woman who was worth Count Piero de Grassi’s 
best endeavor. Each woman claimed his atten¬ 
tion for the moment, as a possibility; a hidden 
w~ay; an unknown sea to be explored. But as 
yet, he had found no uncharted land. Some 
roads were longer than others, some voyages more 
difficult; but it all amounted to the same thing in 
the end: All women bent to his will at last, before 
he well recognized his own endeavor. And a 
woman lying ready to his hand — What did he 
care for such women? 

But he did not lose interest in the chase. Some¬ 
where there was one who would call out the last 
ounce in him; and he would pay out his very soul 


The Closed Road 


39 


in the effort, as he had paid when he sought 
Berold. And he would win — as he had won 
Berold. 

He leaned down and patted the magnificent red 
shoulder; he pressed his knees against Berold’s 
ribs and set the stallion into his long measured 
gallop that left the miles behind them. 

Louie loved this great horse because he found 
in him a spirit to match his own; because he knew 
that Berold was still unconquered, though he 
seemed biddable enough to his hand. For each 
time he was left unused for a while, they had their 
struggle for supremacy all over again, with Louie 
always the conqueror. Louie felt that he would 
always conquer. He did not fear the wild stal¬ 
lion, but he knew how slight a thing would give 
Berold the mastery. 

The sun shone high and hot when Louie rode 
into Ashfork and took Berold to his stable. Here 
a short, stalwart Portuguese came to the door, a 
grin of welcome on his swarthy face; but at 
Berold’s vicious lunge at him, he leaped nimbly 
back. 

Louie laughed heartily. 

“ You Tend you devil horse you’self, Louie 
Barbano,” said the stable keeper with the freedom 
of old acquaintance; “ I bin got to take care 
myse’f.” 

“ Why this sudden caution, Jose? ” inquired 
Louie dismounting. 

“ I bin go to be married tomorrow,” said Jose, a 
dark red climbing to meet his black curls. 


40 


The Closed Road 


“ So? ” Louie looked him up and down dis¬ 
paragingly. “ You! Married? By the Holy 
Saints! What poor girl has lost all hopes of doing 
better? Tell me. Perhaps I can find her some¬ 
thing more acceptable.” 

“ She bin please all right wit’ me/’ grinned Jose. 
“ She dam glad to git me. An’ you not know her, 
an’ I don’t want you to; she bin a good girl.” 

“ Well,” said Louie dropping the cinche under 
Berold’s slim belly; “ if she is a good girl, I can’t 
hurt her.” His eyes twinkled. “ That is nothing 
new. They are all that — all good, Jose. Some¬ 
times I think they are almost as good as we men.” 

At loss to answer him, Jose picked up the heavy 
saddle and hung it on the wall. 

“ Yet sometimes,” the twinkle of Louie’s bril¬ 
liant eyes was emphasized by the flash of his white 
teeth through a smile, as he led Berold into the 
stall, “ Sometimes, Jose — they surprise us.” He 
came out and thrust a bill toward the stable keeper. 
“ Well, have it your own way. But tell her how 
sorry I am for her, and that I hope she will soon 
have an opportunity to choose again to a better 
advantage. Take this to buy her a present; and 
as for you — may you never find her out.” 

He progressed slowly up the one principal street 
of Ashfork. Everybody knew Louie Barbano; 
and by the time he reached the big Santa Fe hotel 
he knew much of the news, east and west, and 
most of the gossip of the little town. The excite¬ 
ment over the Capstan murders was heightened 
by the Mexicans having been seen twenty miles 


The Closed Road 


41 


north of there as they were headed for the big 
canyon. The sheriff’s posse had gone out, and 
men stood about in groups talking of the probable 
capture. Of course they would be caught. Big 
Jim Meredith, the sheriff of Yavipai County, 
never missed his man. 

Louie went into a gun shop to replace the re¬ 
volver he had given Crevola. He had several 
hours at his disposal. There was no hurry. He 
was on his way home, and there was never any 
haste in that direction. Two women waited for 
him here. He visited them both. This occupied 
the greater part of the afternoon. 

All other business disposed of, he called on 
Father Gregory, the resident priest; for, in spite 
of his other faults, Louie was a devout Catholic. 
He found that the Father had gone to Seligman, 
and from there out to his own Ranch house. This 
meant another wait for the west-bound train; but 
he put it in quite pleasantly. Time never hung 
heavily on Louie Barbano’s hands. 

When at last the train snorted in, he overcame 
Berold’s usual fierce protest to the indignity of the 
box car, and then boarded the train himself. 

He leaned back in his seat and made a wry face. 
After an absence of several months, he was going 
home to his wife. He didn’t envy himself in the 
least! 

A traveling man opposite made an overture for 
companionship, but Louie only nodded and an¬ 
swered vaguely. The face of the girl at Bronson’s 
rose mistily before him. It made him think of the 


42 


The Closed Road 


pale morning sky, until lighted by emotion, then 
it was the horizon lit by the rising sun. If she 
were fair or dark he could not remember. He 
could not visualize her, except as a cloudy spirit. 
It was the direct gaze of her eyes and her strange 
personality that followed him and challenged his 
attention. And she was alone! Was it this lone¬ 
liness that gave her those strange eyes like deep 
wells? And tied to those lumps of living death! 
He tried to imagine his wife in the girl’s unpro¬ 
tected situation — Mary, who covered up her 
head if the stairway creaked at night, or a curtain 
waved out into a ray of moonlight; who burned 
many candles to the blessed Virgin to preserve 
her from the hidden dangers ever lurking at her 
heels. He tried to imagine those calm gray eyes 
in Mary’s chaotic face; and the result made him 
laugh aloud. 

The traveling man looked over at him, a gleam 
in his eyes; but Louie was watching the long curve 
of the track ahead. Yes, he remembered some¬ 
thing else; her slim, work-roughened hand as she 
put it out to receive the revolver, the cool touch of 
her fingers as they met his. He saw Mary’s fat, 
yellow hand, loaded with rings. Involuntarily he 
moved his own as if indeed, Mary had touched 
him. 

And Berold had trembled under her touch. He, 
Berold! from whom Mary ran screaming if he so 
much as looked in her direction. The man’s face 
darkened. Of all the kinds of women in the 
world, that he should have been saddled with 


The Closed Road 


43 


Mary’s type! Seven years he had stood it, but 
never, in all those years, had it galled him quite 
as it did tonight. Suddenly he tossed back his 
head impatiently; animation came back into his 
face. He leaned forward and spoke to the travel¬ 
ing man, who, eager to talk, kept up a conversa¬ 
tion until they reached Seligman. Here Louie 
released Berold from his unpleasant quarters and 
they started on the homeward lap of the journey. 

Cold sunlight bathed the courtyard in front of 
the stone ranch house as Louie entered. The 
sharp blades of the wild iris that surrounded the 
fountain were pushing up through the wet mould. 
The Indian houses at the far end, were sleepily 
astir. A woman ascended one of the entrance 
ladders with a load of fire wood on her back. 
The bell tower cast a long shadow across the roof 
of the tiny chapel facing the west. 

Louie’s face darkened. Impatiently he checked 
the stallion’s cry of pleasure at sight of his own 
paddock, rode across the court and dismounted 
behind the chapel. Here he turned Berold into 
the round stockade built of upright logs, high and 
strong, fastened the gate with a padlock and 
turned away. 

Near the chapel, unnoticed by him, stood an 
Indian woman — a Navajo with a big-eyed baby 
in her arms, tall and straight, beautiful and silent 
as a statue of the Madonna. The white band on 
her head, against the background of her black 
hair, shone like a nimbus. She watched Louie’s 
retreating figure, the distance ever widening be- 


44 


The Closed Road 


tween them. But she did not speak, and he did 
not see her. As he rounded the corner of the 
chapel, he met Father Gregory with his lean, 
sad-eyed face bent toward the ground. 

All the weariness and gloom dropped from 
Louie’s face as he bared his head reverently before 
the priest. 

“ Father! ” he cried, clasping the thin white 
hand in his firm grasp, “ I missed you at Ashfork 
and have traveled all night to get here.” 

The old priest’s eyes grew misty with pleasure. 
He laid his free hand on Louie’s shoulder, searching 
the handsome young face before him. “ Indeed? 
It gives me pleasure to see you, my son. I have 
waited a long time for your coming.” 

“ A long time,” repeated Louie, not shrinking 
from the Father’s searching eyes. “ But how 
long have you been here? You found everything 
comfortable, I hope? ” 

“ I have been here two days. Yes, Mary gave 
me all I required. Mary is a good daughter.” 

Louie shrugged his shoulders as he set his im¬ 
patient step to keep slow pace with the Father’s. 

“ She says you have been away a long time.” 

“ You may call it five months.” 

“ Ah,” said the Father, “ That is not right.” 

Louie did not argue the question with the 
Reverend Father. 

“ Mary does not look well,” continued Father 
Gregory. 

“ That is too bad,” said Louie, without interest. 


The Closed Road 


45 


“ Do you not keep help for her? ” the Father 
went on austerely. 

“ Help? ” Louie’s tone was curt. “ There are 
a dozen Indian women on the place. It is more 
likely she needs exercise.” 

“ It is lonely here, my son. She needs recrea¬ 
tion, change.” 

“ Women like Mary don’t need recreation,” 
contended Louie obstinately; “ they only need a 
rocking chair, and Mary has several.” 

The Father bore Louie’s opposition patiently. 
“ She had a bad night before I came. The Nava¬ 
jo’s baby was very sick.” 

“ Who? ” Louie suddenly stopped in the path. 

“ The child of the Navajo woman. It is very 
young, and has been ailing.” 

Louie walked on, not answering. He turned 
back abruptly as they neared the house. “ Wait, 
I have forgotten something.” 

He retraced his way with quick steps. When 
he returned, the Father was lost in watching a 
little brown bird getting a meal from among the 
wild iris shoots. 

Louie carried in his hand a long box. “ A 
present for little Louise,” he explained; “ I left it 
in my saddle bag.” 

“ God cares for them all,” said the priest, indi¬ 
cating the bird. 

Louie assented absently. As he spoke he shifted 
the package under his arm, pushed open the 
heavy front door, ushering the Father into a wide 
hall and the living room at the left of the staircase. 


46 


The Closed Road 


He sniffed impatiently at the unwholesome odor 
that greeted them — the odor of close rooms and 
burning candle wicks. He went about flinging up 
the windows. “ I’ll lay Berold to my chances of 
getting out of Purgatory, that the windows haven’t 
been opened since I left. Sit down in that chair, 
Father Gregory, and I’ll have the place so that we 
can breathe in a minute. One thing Mary can’t 
be accused of: she isn’t a fresh air fiend.” 

He stood for a moment in the rush of air that 
came in cool from the garden at the back of the 
house. He looked about the room as one who 
sees nothing of interest. It was a large room, 
barbarically furnished with the pickings of a 
traveler. Gay Navajo rugs covered the stone 
floor; the walls were hung with expensive tapes¬ 
tries, and two large curio cabinets held many rare 
and valuable things from the far corners of the 
earth. 

A wide double fireplace with a smouldering fire 
occupied the center of the room. A closed piano 
stood at one side; and in the opposite wall a niche 
gave place for a small statue of the Madonna and 
Child in the whitest Carrara marble. In front of 
this, three tall candles burned. The flames 
flickered in the wind. 

Louie went over to the shrine, crossed himself 
and stood silently before it with bent head. 

Father Gregory leaned back in his chair and 
closed his eyes. Of all his children he loved this 
man the best; and he thought he saw a new 
trouble in Louie’s eyes. 


The Closed Road 


47 


A heavy step came down the hall and fell on 
the thick rugs of the room. 

“ Now a come/’ said Mary Barbano entering, 
her yellow face smiling and hospitable, “ If you 
would lika to go — Mother of Jesus! ” She flung 
up her ring-laden hands. “ But it is mine owna 
Louee! ” She wrapped her arms about his neck 
with noisy kisses and cries of joy. “ He bin come 
back, and I not a know. When? ” 

His devotions thus rudely interrupted, Louie, 
smiling mechanically, kissed her, and coolly took 
her arms from off his shoulders. 

She allowed him to escape for the moment, and 
pounced upon the child who stood shrinking just 
outside the door, resisting Father Gregory’s at¬ 
tempts to coax her into the room. 

“ Here, you bada lil’ gel! ” cried Mary; “ Ain’ 
you glad to see your poppa? ” She pulled the 
child, just ready to burst into tears, toward Louie. 
“ What makes him so fright’ of you, Louee? All 
times I tell him of he good poppa, still he bin 
’fraid. Come, be good; or poppa will call the 
wild coyotes.” 

“Hush!” said Louie sternly. “You only 
frighten her more.” He went to the child and 
took her reluctant hand in his, “ Come,” he said 
gently, with the smile that had allayed Crevola’s 
fears. He led her to the table where he had laid 
the package. “ See what I found for you in San 
Antonio.” 

Mary stood watching them, beaming and nod¬ 
ding, making the diamonds flash in her ears and 


48 


The Closed Road 


in her heavy black hair. She wore a bright blue 
satin dress, put on in honor of the Father. A 
ragged petticoat showed above her thick ankles. 

Louie sat down and drew the child between his 
knees, where she stood much like a little wild 
rabbit watching a chance to escape. 

“ I think he bin so ’fraid of Louee,” said Mary 
in a loud whisper to the Father; “ ’cause I bin so 
’fright of him. Once, oh verra long time ago, he 
act fierca. Me, I not a know how to do; no way 
bin right.” 

The Father nodded. He was watching Louie 
and the child. 

Louie made quite a bit of unwrapping the pack¬ 
age, all the time telling her of the beautiful shop 
where he had found it until she leaned against his 
knees, her dark, imaginative eyes glowing. Finally 
he opened the box and held up a beautiful doll. 

She drew a long breath of delight, and clasped 
the doll, her father’s hand with it, to her breast in 
childish abandon. She lifted her transfigured little 
face toward him. 

“ Oh, see the swella doll! ” cried Mary, no 
longer able to remain unnoticed. “ Now a kiss 
your good poppa. You must not a be fright’ of 
him. See! Momma nota ’fraid.” 

The spell Louie had so carefully woven, vanished 
at Mary’s practical demonstration of his harmless¬ 
ness. The child scuttled away, leaving the doll 
awkwardly in his hand. He tried to coax her to 
return, but she was gone like a wild thing of the 
woods. 


The Closed Road 


49 


Mary started to reproach her, but at Louie’s 
thick frown she stopped. He laid the doll on the 
table and left the room. 

He did not return until evening, just as Mary 
was summoning Father Gregory to the last meal 
of the day. 

Mary glanced up rather fearfully as he entered 
the room; but his expression of forced serenity 
reassured her. She led the way into the hand¬ 
some dining room with its low, beamed ceiling. 
Through the wide window Berold could be seen 
running free in his big stockade. 

“ The bada wild horse,” chattered Mary, hover¬ 
ing solicitously over the Father until he was 
seated. “ All time he keepa me in the hot water 
for Louee, I so ’fright of him. Once he start 
toward me — he wasa tied; but I run and scream! 
It scare Louee to death. And when he found it 
bin nothings, he swear so! ” Mary laughed and 
laughed; but Louie did not join her. 

She waited on Louise; and then she must tell 
of Navajo Kate’s baby, which she declared looked 
exactly as Louise did when she was a baby. “ You 
need nota laugh, Louee. It is verra true; as like 
as th’ two lil’ pups. It is a granda child! And 
the shame that Texas Charlie could not live to 
see it.” 

There was no merriment in Louie’s short laugh. 
The forced serenity dropped away from his face 
leaving it worried and irritable. It grew more so 
as Mary talked on in her broken English, which 
annoyed him more than anything else she did. 


50 


The Closed Road 


Father Gregory looked at him. He was eating 
little and fast losing his self control. Suddenly he 
pushed back his plate, excused himself and left 
the room. 

Mary ran after him, but he dismissed her curtly. 

She came back looking scared. “ He is verra 
cross, Father. I nota know how to do. Perhaps 
if you —” 

Father Gregory followed the w^ay Louie had 
gone, and found him staring out of the window 
across the hills. From here could be seen a part 
of Berold’s corral, and if one stood far to the left, 
a tiny corner of Navajo Kate’s house. 

Louie turned irritably at the sound of footsteps. 
“ Oh! It is you,” he said with relief in his eyes. 
He flashed pale, his hands clenched. “ I tell you 
I can’t stand it any longer! I can’t stand it! Isn’t 
there some w T ay to set me free? ” 

Father Gregory picked up his rosary and 
caressed the cross. 

“ You have asked that question several times 
before, my son,” he answered, a pained expression 
coming into his eyes; “ and I think you under¬ 
stand how futile it is.” 

“ There is a way! ” cried Louie rebelliously. 
“ There must be a way! I will find a way! I will 
be free! It is not sensible that I should be tied 
to a woman like her! ” 

Father Gregory did not answer. He laid his 
cross against his breast and lifted pleading eyes 
towards heaven. His sympathies were all with 


The Closed Road 


51 


Louie; but he was a priest of the Holy Catholic 
church. 

“ Do you blame me? Can you blame me, 
Father? A man should not have to pay forever 
for the sin of his youth. Animals we all are until 
we learn to be human. A girl of fifteen! A boy 
of twenty! Nature lays the trap. Who’s the 
blame that we fall in it? And to suffer hell, as I 
have suffered since —! ” 

Father Gregory lowered his eyes. “ A man 
must pay,” he said austerely. “ And though it is 
hard — I grant you that — it is good for your 
soul. Recompense is the law of God.” 

Louie took an angry step forward, checking the 
oath that rose to his lips. “ I dare not dispute 
you, Father; but I ask what does it avail a man’s 
soul when he walks day by day with murder in his 
heart? Yes, and in his mind. I could kill to set 
myself free! ” 

He strode around the room in his passion, his 
eyes burning, his hands clenched. Mary’s work 
basket, full of trumpery things, stood on the 
table. He flung it on the floor and trampled it 
under his feet. 

“ This is what I could do! ” His voice rose 
shrill with passion. 

“ Louie, my son! ” The old priest’s face re¬ 
flected his horror. He caught at Louie’s arm. 
“ Louie, my son! ” he said sternly, and held up 
his cross. 

Louie’s passion went out in a gust of shame. He 
hung his head before the Father. He, Count 


52 


The Closed Road 


Piero de Grassi! He pulled himself together, and 
silently got down on the floor and picked up the 
far-rolled spools and buttons, the thimble, the 
pins, the needles, and the hooks. 

He was a long time collecting them. He felt 
that he had poured out his mind in much the same 
way; and perhaps to the Father it seemed only a 
spilling of buttons and spools. He thought the 
Father’s eyes were on him, and glanced up fur¬ 
tively once; but the priest knelt with his crucifix 
in his fingers, his white head bent and his lips 
moving in silent prayer. 

At last Louie got up, straightened the basket as 
well as he could and set it on the table. 

The priest rose and said gently, “ Tell me, my 
son.” 

“ I am not worthy of that, Father Gregory,” 
said Louie humbly. But the priest took him by 
the arm. 

“ My son,” he repeated; “ My beloved son.” 

With a contrite face Louie crossed the room, 
bringing back a deep cushioned chair. “ Sit here, 
Father, before the fire.” 

Gently Louie guided the priest into the seat 
where he sat wearily with closed eyes, holding his 
beads in his thin white fingers. The red glow of 
the fire tinged his pale face under his silver hair. 

Louie sat beside him. “ You are a priest, 
Father Gregory,” he began doubtingly; “ and 
the problems I bring are the problems of a man.” 

“ The priest was first born a man,” said the 
Father unclosing his eyes. 


The Closed Road 


53 


“ Even so/’ Louie shook his head, looking into 
the Father’s pure face. “ It isn’t easy for me to 
understand that holiness such as yours has ever 
been touched by the hot desires of a man.” 

Father Gregory turned his benign face toward 
him. “ There is only one difference, my son: 
whether a man masters the flesh, or lets it master 
him. Do not be afraid that I shall not under¬ 
stand. God is here. He understands everything; 
can supply what I lack. Tell Him; He listens 
through my ears.” 

The bell in the courtyard clanged three times 
before they parted, the Father going to a small 
chamber off the living room, and Louie to his 
luxurious bedroom on the second floor. There, 
his mind eased and his sins newly shriven, he slept 
until long past dawn. 

He came down stairs about mid-morning. As 
he passed Mary’s room he heard her call to him. 

“ Louee. That bin you? Come in.” 

He frowned. He had extreme distaste for 
entering his wife’s disorderly, ill ventilated room, 
and could hardly recall when he had last been in 
there. 

“ Louee! ” 

He smoothed his brow with an effort and 
opened the door. 

Mary, in a soiled silk morning robe, her black 
hair still frowsy from the pillow, sat on the edge 
of the bed in the act of pulling a silk stocking on 
over her fat, hairy leg. 


54 


The Closed Road 


Louie stopped on the threshold. “ I beg your 
pardon.” 

Mary assumed the stocking hurriedly and held 
out her bare, fleshy arms. “ Come and kiss me 
good morning, my Louee. It has bin such long 
times —” Leaping up, she kicked a pile of gar¬ 
ments out of her way on the floor and approached 
him smiling. “ Such long times, Louee —” 

“ When you are dressed — dear,” he added 
politely. “ I will wait out here for you.” 

She pouted. “ You needn’t be so modest, 
Louee. It bin only you wife.” 

He closed the door. “ I’ll wait here in the hall 
for you — Don’t hurry.” 

But Mary did hurry. She came out hooking 
her waist over her broad bosom. Running to 
Louie’s side, as he stood looking out into the 
courtyard, she put up her square, yellow face. 

“ Bad Louee! To make me wait.” 

He kissed her, not lingering over it however. 

“ How are you feeling this morning? ” 

“ I don’t a feel good,” said Mary with a woe¬ 
begone look; “ I bin feel bad.” 

He took her arm and helped her down stairs into 
the living room and seated her in a cushioned chair. 

“ I bin feel bad, Louee — long time,” continued 
Mary wretchedly, pushing back her hair from her 
bilious forehead. 

“ Where about? How do you feel? ” inquired 
Louie seating himself on the arm of a chair 
opposite. 

“ Just had ,” said Mary, a fat picture of woe. 


The Closed Road 


55 


“ Well, I’m sorry,” commented Louie rising. 
“ Suppose we have breakfast and then talk it 
over. Where’s Louise? ” 

Mary got up. “ She bin down to Mass wit’ the 
Father. Here she come. Here’s my bada lil’ 
gel! ” cried Mary, swooping down upon the child 
with affectionate arms. “ Where’s the Father? 
Down to the Wallipai huts? ” 

Louise nodded, her big, dark eyes fixed on Louie. 
“ Now,” said Mary briskly, taking off the child’s 
scarlet cloak and hood, “ Mamma has to go and 
see about poppa’s breakfast. You want to stay 
here wit’ poppa? Now, don’t scare him, Louee! 
You knows he so fright of you! ” 

Louie smiled at his small daughter as Mary 
tramped heavily out. 

“ Come here, Louise.” 

She went slowly, pleating the edge of her white 
apron with nervous fingers. 

He stooped and took her up in his arms. 
“ Where’s your doll? ” 

Louise shook her head, her finger in her mouth. 
“ Don’t you know? ” he insisted. 

“ Mother hid it,” she said finally, pointing; 
“ in there, cause I bin bad girl —” 

“Was, Louise,” corrected Louie quickly; “ —was 
a bad girl. I don’t think you were. Do you 
want your doll? ” 

She nodded, her face bright. 

He got it from a closet beside the fireplace, and 
she encircled it with her arm. Silently she put up 
her tiny mouth to be kissed. 


56 


The Closed Road 


He felt concious of a distinct thrill as he kissed 
the soft baby mouth. u Come/’ he said, “ and 
let’s sit here and see what this doll can do.” 

When Mary came in to say breakfast was ready, 
Louise hung about her father’s neck, and both 
were laughing hilariously. 

Mary looked displeased, woe-begone, and burst 
into imitation weeping. “ Oh, you bada lil’ gel,” 
she wailed; “ to leave your momma! ” 

Louise looked alarmed, and began to climb down 
out of Louie’s lap. 

He held her gently. “ Mother’s just playing. 
Don’t do that, Mary. She doesn’t understand.” 

Mary continued to weep noisily, peeking through 
her fingers. 

Louise began to tremble and pucker up her face. 

“ Mary! ” insisted Louie sharply, “ There’s no 
sense to that. Don’t you see you’re frightening 
her more? ” 

At this Mary took down her hands in hurt sur¬ 
prise and began to sob loudly with distorted face 
and streaming eyes. She held out her arms dis¬ 
tractedly to the child who struggled and screamed. 

“ Mama! Mama! ” 

“ Oh, Good Lord! ” Louie set her down beside 
Mary and went out of the house. 

As he strode exasperatedly across the court¬ 
yard he met Father Gregory coming toward the 
house. The priest laid his hand on him in 
blessing. 

“ How is my son this morning? ” 

“ Oh, things are worse than ever,” Louie an- 


The Closed Road 


57 


swered in an annoyed tone. He turned back with 
the Father, walking with bent head as the priest 
talked. 

In the house Mary, with red eyes, summoned 
them to breakfast. Louise hung to her skirts. 

Louie ate in silence, except that he was very 
solicitous of Mary’s wants, who, in spite of her 
hurt feelings, ate a very good breakfast. 

Nobody lingered over the meal. As soon as 
they finished, Father Gregory took Louise outside 
and Louie, with a determined expression on his 
face, put his arm around Mary, led her into the 
living room and placed her in a chair. 

“ I see, Mary,” he said gently, sitting opposite 
her; “ that you are not well.” 

Mary’s face became distorted with grief. “ I 
ain’t, Louee,” she sobbed. “ I tole you I bin feel 
a bad all times.” 

He let her sob for a few minutes. “ There, 
there, Mary. Don’t cry so —” 

At this Mary cried the louder, burying her face 
in an embroidered sofa pillow. 

Louie put out his hand and touched her hair. 
“ Father Gregory and I have been talking about 
you,” he said. “ We had a long talk last night.” 

Mary’s sobs lessened in volume. “ What a the 
Father say? ” 

“ He said that you look ill — are ill, and need 
to go away somewhere on a long vacation. And 
I think so too.” 

Mary’s cries ceased. She popped up her tear 
stained face, and said forlornly: 


58 


The Closed Road 


“ Nobody knows how sick I bin, Louee.” 

“ I know it,” he answered seriously. “ You 
need a long vacation. How about a trip to see 
Cousin Marianna in Portugal? ” 

Mary’s dejected face broke into smiles. She 
clapped her fat hands. “ Oh, my Louee! ” 

“ The ocean voyage will be a splendid thing for 
you and Louise both.” 

“ And you too, Louee.” 

He shook his head regretfully. “ I’m afraid I 
can’t go — just now — Mary. There are some 
things —” 

Mary’s smile vanished. “ Then I wait hi’ wile.” 

“ No, no! No, Mary! You need to go now.” 

Mary got up and put affectionate arms about his 
neck, and pressing her face to his, gave him a moist 
kiss. 

“I — will — nota — go — wit’out — my — 
Louee.” 

With tightly compressed lips he quietly un¬ 
twined her arms and rose. Still holding her 
hands, he gently set her down in the chair and 
stood beside her. 

“ Don’t stand up,” he said. “ You’ll tire your¬ 
self. Listen, Mary. The Father thinks you ought 
to go. Of course I’ll miss you; but I’ll get along. 
And you and Marianna would have such grand 
times together. Think of it! Such wonderful 
times! You haven’t seen each other for so long.” 

“ I could a show him I got a lot a diamonds,” 
suggested Mary tentatively. “ He nev’ would 
b’lieve it.” 


The Closed Road 


59 


“ Sure! Fine chance! We’ll get a lot more. 
What would you like? ” 

Mary loved diamonds. Her face beamed. 
“ Won’t he eyes a stick out. But I gotta have 
close, Louee — Lots a close. Nica close.” 

Louie laughed enthusiastically. “ Of course. 
Loads of clothes. Anything you want, Mary — 
anything. We’ll show Cousin Marianna! I’ll 
send to St. Louis right away for diamonds, and 
you can choose the ones you want.” 

Mary bustled out of her chair, her bilious face 
full of glee. “ I want a beeg ones, Louee, to maka 
the eyes stick out! ” 

Louie nodded, his eyes bright with gay compre¬ 
hension, at which Mary flung her arms about his 
neck, “ Oh, mine owna Louee! I could give you 
one tousan’ kiss! ” 

“ One will pay me, Mary.” 

“ If only you could a go! ” lamented Mary. 

“ Now, see here! ” Louie held her off with a 
smile. “ If I should go running off to Portugal 
and leave my business, who’s going to pay for all 
these fine clothes and diamonds? ” 

Mary giggled happily. “ You a funny, Mary’s 
big boy! ” She attempted another embrace, but 
Louie gaily put her out into the dining room and 
shut the door. 

With his back to the panel, he shook his fingers 
as if something distasteful clung to them. 

“ God! ” he muttered savagely. “ God! Father 
Gregory is right. How we have to pay! ” 


CHAPTER IV 


Crevola did not expect Uncle Joe to get up early 
the morning of his return. She had the outside 
work done and was washing the breakfast dishes 
when he shambled into the kitchen. 

Joe Bronson was a tall, spare old man stooped 
with age and senility, with dim, vacant eyes, thin, 
fine gray hair and a white beard that only half 
concealed the weakness of mouth and chin. His 
head throbbed dully this morning, and he retained 
but a hazy recollection of the affable stranger who 
had enticed him away from the crude hospitalities 
of Camp Verde, and rode with him to the mesa 
rim. 

He remembered that Crevola had let him in 
the house and helped him to bed. A good child! 
Never again would he go away and leave her. He 
told her so, again and again. “ The last time. 
The very last time! ” he said deprecatingly, the 
tears streaming from his shamed old eyes and 
running down into his white beard. 

A flush for his degradation burned on her own 
cheek. She set him a chair and poured a cup of 
hot coffee for him. His humiliation embarrassed 
her beyond words; she could not say anything. 
Turning from him she opened the oven door, and 
taking out some warmed biscuits she put them on 


The Closed Road 61 

a plate, guided him to a chair, and went back to 
her dishwashing. 

She stood with her back to him, a mournful 
little figure in blue and white gingham, with the 
hot tears running silently down her face. 

Uncle Joe drank his coffee, poured himself 
another cup, another with shaking hand. Strong 
and hot, it brought back, in a measure, his confi¬ 
dence and self control. As he pushed back his 
chair he asked: 

“ Did you milk the cow? ” 

“ Yes, Uncle Joe.” 

“ You’re a good child. I brought you some¬ 
thing.” He set a small package on the table, 
looked at her piteously and went out. 

Crevola took up the parcel, a little tin of canned 
fish, of which she was very fond. Her lips 
trembled. The pity of it! She had known no 
other father. His weakness, his humiliation, and 
the thin gray hair about his temples — and this 
mute little tin of tuna. Everything was so ter¬ 
rible, and why? She sat down on the floor, cov¬ 
ered her face with her apron and cried bitterly. 

The following days went by without change. 
Little news sifted down to the house under the 
mesa height; but once Uncle Joe heard that the 
Mexicans of the Capstan murders had been 
caught. The news did not mean much to Crevola. 
The story had impressed her less than those she 
took down from the book case and read to Aunt 
Rachel. 

By this time the plum tree had shed its snow 


62 


The Closed Road 


and the roses had pushed out of their green sheaths. 
Outside the spring advanced with leaf and bloom; 
but Crevola, tied in the house by the care of 
Aunt Rachel, did not get much of the season. 

In the absence of change she lived over and over 
again the one night set apart from so many. 
Sometimes as gray day succeeded gray day, she 
would almost think she had dreamed, and Count 
Piero de Grassi with his great horse was only one 
of the images with which she filled her mind. Yet 
she kept the loaded revolver by her as Louie had 
suggested. It gave her a feeling of protection 
almost as if it were human. But she was glad 
she had not had to use it; each slim cartridge was 
a friend. She did not have many friends; she 
could not afford to lose one. 

Every evening she went down the overgrown 
road to the aspen grove. She always looked up to 
where the mesa cut the sky; but she never saw 
anyone, except once when the old Mexican, Gon¬ 
zales was going back to his flock of sheep. It did 
not mislead her, after the first quick leap of her 
heart, for she heard the mule bell tinkling. Berold 
did not wear a bell. 

It was something even to see Gonzales. She 
liked the old Mexican. She could not remember 
the time when he was not very old and wrinkled. 
A bullet had once plowed a furrow across his eye¬ 
brow, and another had caught him in the throat. 
He could speak only in a rasping whisper scarcely 
understandable. He always wore a peaked hat, 
big silver hoops in his ears, and a dingy scarlet 


The Closed Road 


63 


sash about his waist. Always very dirty, and 
smelling of sheep; yet he was someone to talk to. 
He was a kind old fellow, and often brought her 
legs of fat mutton. It was he who had given her 
the lamb. She felt glad to hear the tinkling of 
the mule bell. 

Gonzales said they had not caught the Mexi¬ 
cans, and warned the Senor Bronson of them. 
There were many rumors flying around. 

The Senor Bronson did not take the warning 
very seriously. The next day Crevola said that 
Aunt Rachel wanted some chocolate, so he got up 
early and started for Camp Verde while the stars 
were yet in the sky. 

After he had mounted Gray Bell, he turned in 
his saddle to say: 

“ I think Gonzales is an old fool with his cock- 
and-bull stories; but if I were you, I’d stay pretty 
close in the house today, Crevola. Til be home 
early. Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye, Uncle Joe.” 

Crevola watched Gray Bell melt into the morn¬ 
ing twilight; the click, clack of her shod hoofs 
growing fainter in the distance. In the still hour 
before dawn she lingered on the flagged walk with 
her face upturned toward the spangled sky. 

So many worlds! Like this one? She won¬ 
dered. And was there in all those worlds one 
other girl like herself who stood alone, with no 
voice or hand to answer if she called? 

Shaking off the oppression of the vastness, the 
stillness and the dark she gathered a bunch of 


64 


The Closed Road 


dewy roses, she could see the blossoms dimly 
outlined, from the red rose bush by the gate, and 
went indoors. 

A long day was before her, but a busy one. 
There was ironing to do and bread to bake. This 
with Aunt Rachel's frequent demands took up 
the day. It was past one o'clock when Crevola 
wheeled the invalid out into the living room, and 
getting down a story book, began to read: 

“ ‘ Rachel Liscomb, daughter of Deacon Lis- 
comb, tall, slender, straight, with black hair, dark 
eyes, a brunette — looked at him one day as they 
walked home from meeting, with a look he never 
got over —’ " 

The screen door slammed quickly; heavy feet 
tramped across the floor. 

As she looked up a startled word broke from 
her lips. 

“ Be still, Senorita; no cries," a harsh voice 
commanded. “ Ees the Senor Bronson here? " 

The blood left her face as she rose to her feet, 
tongue-tied by the terrible appearance of the man 
before her. A Mexican, unkempt and dirty beyond 
her previous conception, his foul brown flesh 
showed through the rents in his tattered clothes; 
his bleeding feet pushed out of his ragged shoes; 
matted black hair swept the filthy blue handker¬ 
chief about his neck. But his face was the real 
terror, gaunt and pinched from exposure, with 
eyes haunted and desperate; and his lean, knotted 
fingers grasped a long barreled rifle. 


The Closed Road 


65 


Instinctively she placed her slight figure in 
front of Aunt Rachel. 

“ The Senor Bronson? ” snarled the man 
huskily. 

She managed to shake her head. “ He is not 
— not here/’ she articulated faintly, stretching 
out her hands on either side of her as if to protect 
the helpless one behind. “ Did — did you — want 
to see him? ” 

“ I want food, Senorita. I am starve.” 

“ Oh!” The color came back into her face; 
the tight band that contracted her throat loosened. 

“ Come into the kitchen. I’ll get some for 
you.” 

She led the way and he followed, not taking his 
sinister eyes off her white clad figure. 

Terrified by his wolfish eyes, at first she avoided 
looking into them, yet his pitiable condition partly 
allayed her fears; but her knees and hands shook 
as she cut thick slices of bread and meat and gave 
them to him. 

Snatching the food from her hands, he crammed 
it into his mouth like a famished animal, at the 
same time holding his rifle under his arm. 

Crevola stood aloof watching him eat, with 
wide, still eyes full of anxious pity and inquiry. 

“ Do you want more? ” she asked. 

Casting a quick, stabbing glance at her, he 
thrust the uneaten portion of the food into his 
dirty pocket. 

Crevola turned from him, but stopped at his 
hoarse command. 


66 


The Closed Road 


“ Stay here! ” Clawing at the handkerchief 
about his corded throat, he took a step toward her. 
The smell of the filthy tobacco reeking animal 
sickened her nostrils. She recoiled from his loath¬ 
some face in distaste rather than fear. 

“ Hide me, Senorita,” he whispered looking 
stealthily about him. “ Hide me. Jesu! I ees 
seek man.” 

She warded him back with upraised hand. 
“ No, no. I can’t,” she protested. “ I can’t 
hide you. There’s no place. Don’t ask me. I 
can’t do it.” 

His piercing eyes narrowed to slits. The evil 
face pressed nearer. “ Perhaps ze Senorita ees 
wish to live? ” 

She recoiled from him, her face deathly white, 
but the wall stopped her. The frightful grimace 
of his smile made speech impossible. 

“ You ees wish to live? ” he repeated. “ So ees 
I. Hide me, Senorita, for one hour! They ees 
after me.” 

Pity for his wretchedness loosed her tongue. 

“ Who is after you? Why? ” 

“ The Gringoes. Eet ees mistake. Zey hunt 
ze wrong man. Hide me one hour ’till zey come 
and go.” 

As he spoke the sound of galloping horses swept 
down on the wind from the mesa height — nearer 
— nearer. 

The Mexican’s face turned to a fury. He 
caught her arm shaking her roughly. 

“ Where ees I hide? ” His desperate glance 








PROMISE. l’LL DO IT! l’LL TELL THEM. LET ME GO ! ” 














The Closed Road 67 

roved around the kitchen walls. A closet door 
stood ajar. 

He sprang toward it. With a bound he leaped 
back beside her. He clutched her arm until his 
dirty fingers sank into her flesh. 

“ Tell the Senor Sheriff,” he hissed at her, “ I 
come. I go out over ze ozzer side. One half 
hour gone. Tell him, eef you wish to live. Tell 
’im! ” 

She could hear the pound of steel shod hoofs and 
see the roll of dust clouds past the window. The 
Mexican’s sinewy fingers tightened. Terror made 
his face devilish. 

“Muy bien, eef you won’t. Come into ze closet 
wiz me.” 

Sick horror closed in on her. She twisted her 
arm frantically. 

“ No, no, no! I’ll tell them. Let go of me! 
I promise. I’ll do it! I’ll tell them. Let me go!” 

He thrust his grim face into hers. 

“ See you do eet.” He released her and she 
fell back and caught a chair. 

“ I watch you.” He lifted his gun leering cun¬ 
ningly. “ Eet ees point at your heart; my finger 
so — on trig — One leetle wink, Senorita; one 
leetle nod —” He patted the breech significantly 
with his dirty left hand. “ Z-z-zip! Remember, 
Senorita. I ees go out on ze ozzer side, one half 
hour.” 

She stood clinging to the chair watching him 
helplessly. He shrank into the closet shutting 
the door except for one small crack. 



68 


The Closed Road 


She started forward. 

“ Stop! ” he commanded. 

She halted like a frightened bird. 

“ Stay zare. Zat ees good place. I can 
see.” 

Rigid, with hands clenched on the back of the 
chair, she heard the panting horses stop, and 
spurred feet tramping over the flags. Her heart 
throbbed in her throat. They would save her! 
Through the crack of the door came a snarl. 

“ Eef you tink I not shoot, you got to get 
anozzer tink, Senorita. Remember.” 

The door flung open to four keen-eyed, grim- 
jawed men with rifles in their hands. 

She raised her eyes. 

The hard faced leader stopped short. “ Don’t 
be scared, Lady. We’re buttin’ right in, but we 
won’t hurt you. We’re trailin’ Mexican John. 
We’ve tracked him in here, havin’ got his pardner 
a mile back. You seen anybody hangin’ around? 
He can’t be half an hour ahead of us.” 

“ Mexican John? ” She hardly dared to move 
her lips. She remembered how still the little 
cottontails made themselves in time of danger. 

The four men drew nearer, listening with grim 
intensity. The sheriff, his deputy and two others, 
fearless looking men in chaps and spurs, jaded, 
unshaven, with keen, relentless eyes. They could 
save her. 

Her deep eyes met the sheriff’s questioning blue 
ones. 


The Closed Road 


69 


“ A Mexican, half starved? ” She dared not 
turn her head. 

“ That’s him.” The sheriff nodded emphati¬ 
cally. “ We’ve been on the track for ten days, 
and he dropped out of sight while we was gettin’ 
his pard. Where is he? ” 

Her nostrils quivered. A thrill ran through her 
body; but she must not move. Still as a little 
frozen cottontail, she turned her helpless eyes 
around the posse of men. The terrible Mexican 
was in her hands and how could she tell the eager 
Sheriff? How? Her hands clenched tighter on 
the back of the chair, as she looked dumbly at the 
men. 

“ He was here? ” asked the Sheriff. 

“ Yes.” 

A sudden wild idea surged into her brain, stop¬ 
ping her speech. Could she do it? Would she 
dare to do it? Her limbs turned cold and a 
nervous spasm started her teeth to chattering. 
She shut them together tightly, forcing her self 
control. 

“ He was here an hour ago.” 

“ I knew it! I knew I wasn’t mistook. Which 
way did he go? ” The men moved expectantly, 
alert to be off on the trail. 

“ He stopped and I fed him.” 

“ You oughten’t to done that, Lady.” 

“ I did it —” She paused turning her eyes 
around the group again. She caught her breath. 
The gawky Deputy at the Sheriff’s left stood in 
line with the crack of the door. He must move. 


70 


The Closed Road 


He must! He mustn’t be killed. The Mexican 
would shoot. She knew that. “ If you tink I 
not shoot, you got anozzer tink.” 

“ Where’d he go? ” “ Which way? ” 

She fixed her eyes on the Deputy, stared into 
his freckled, sunburned face until he turned red 
from the edge of his sandy hair to the open collar 
of his shirt. He stepped around on the other side 
of the Sheriff. 

Her voice caught in her throat again almost 
stopping her breath. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Lady,” urged the Sheriff 
looking at her with kindly eyes. “ Don’t you be 
scared. They ain’t nothin’ to hurt you.” 

“ I know,” she breathed. 

At her right the closet door moved infinitesi¬ 
mally. She felt the gaze of sinister eyes, almost 
the muzzle of that wicked looking rifle against her 
side. ‘Remember, Senorita. I watch you. One 
leetle wink, one leetle nod — z-z-zip! ’ Her breast 
heaved with a deep inhalation. 

“ After I — fed him; he — went — out — on — 
the — east side,” she said in a careful voice, 
“— and he’s in the closet now! ” she shrieked, and 
dropped face downward on the floor. 

Simultaneously a shot rang out shattering the 
wall beyond. 

“ By God! What a trick! ” The Sheriff leap¬ 
ing forward, staggered back with a bullet in his 
shoulder, his rifle dropped to the floor with a 
deafening report. 

“ You damned greaser! ” 




The Closed Road 


71 


“ You Mexican hound!” 

Shot followed shot as the men rushed the closet 
door and closed in on the Mexican. 

With one arm dangling, the Sheriff caught up 
Crevola’s prone body in his uninjured hand and 
thrust her through the door. 

“ Get out of here, Lady.” 

With the roar of the rifles, the rumble of strug¬ 
gling feet, the crack of splintering wood in her 
ears, Crevola had no memory of how she got back 
to Aunt Rachel’s side. Only conscious of her 
aunt’s terror at the tumult, she knelt still, white 
cheeked, with her arms about the quivering body, 
talking and soothing. 

The din of shots, jingling glass and crashing 
furniture continued in the kitchen. 

11 What are they doing, Crevola? ” moaned the 
old creature. 

“ Nothing, Aunt Rachel, nothing much,” as¬ 
sured Crevola clasping the shaking hands tightly in 
hers. “ They’re just trying to get that Mexican 
out of the kitchen. Don’t be afraid, dear Aunt 
Rachel! It’s all right. They won’t let any¬ 
thing hurt us. I think they must have him now.” 

The struggles ceased, and the Mexican’s voice 
rose in a furious stream of jargon. 

“ Knock him on the head, Bill,” said a curt 
voice; “ and stop his foul mouth. Maybe the 
lady understands his lingo.” 

She heard no more except the departing tramp 
of feet and the slam of the screen door. 

She ran to the window. Yes, they had the 


72 


The Closed Road 


wretched creature hand-cuffed, and one of the 
men was fixing a sling for the Sheriff’s arm out of 
two red bandanas tied together. 

She started out there but she met the Sheriff 
and his Deputy coming in. 

“ I’m sorry, Miss,” said the Sheriff; “ but I’m 
afraid we mussed up your kitchen some. Them 
greasers is nasty animals.” 

“ That doesn’t matter. You are hurt.” 

“ Aw, that’s nothin’.” Though the Sheriff’s 
face screwed with pain, his eyes twinkled as he 
tweaked his own nose with the long, lean fingers of 
his left hand. 

“ That was a pretty trick you played, Miss; 
but an awful foolish one. Don’t pull off such a 
stunt as that again. Your luck might fail 
you.” 

She flushed all over her pale face. “ Was it 
foolish? But I had to do something. I couldn’t 
let him get away.” She turned to the gawky 
Deputy. “ I was so afraid you wouldn’t move. 
How I prayed for you to step aside. You were 
right in line with his terrible gun.” 

He grinned and hitched up his chaps. “ I’m a 
bear at gittin’ my fool self in the way. But if I’d 
a knowed it you bet I’d been a movin’.” 

She smiled and shook her head. “ You see he 
made me promise that I would say he had gone 
out the other way, that he would watch me and 
shoot me.” 

“ The hound! ” 

She smiled at her young champion. “ But 


The Closed Road 73 

you probably wouldn’t have done anything so 
foolish —” 

“ I wouldn’t a done what you done. No, 
Ma’am! Not me! ” assured the Deputy solemnly; 
“ not with Mexican John lampin’ me from behind 
a loaded gun. I couldn’t a got up the nerve.” 

“ I didn’t know it was that awful murderer, so 
I — well, I just did it. I have a nice revolver,” 
she stepped back in the living room and took it 
from the mantel. Returning, she held it out with 
some pride. “ And I can shoot; but I had no 
chance to use it.” 

The Sheriff cast a respectful look at Louie’s 
revolver, recognizing it as a real gun, and sized up 
Crevola’s slim girlishness. 

“ Thank God, Lady! ” he said fervently; 
“ you didn’t start no gun play with Mexican 
John. Lots of grown men has found it a sickly 
business. But can’t we do something for you, 
Miss? Where’s your men folks? ” 

“ Thank you. I don’t need anything. Uncle 
has gone to Camp Verde. He will be home soon.” 

“ Then we’ll just trot along with our beauty. 
Good-bye, Lady.” He held out his big, bony 
left hand, in which her small one lost itself. “ I’m 
proud to shake with you,” he said, pumping heart¬ 
ily. “ You’re one in a thousand. If ever you 
need a friend, call on Jim Meredith — that’s me 
— and he’ll break his neck to hear you. And 
when you visit Phoenix come and see us. My 
wife’ll be tickled to death.” 

Another handshake, an admiring glance from the 



74 


The Closed Road 


freckled faced Deputy, and they tramped out, 
swung on to their waiting horses and galloped 
after the others who had gone on ahead. 

She went to the gate to watch the grim caval¬ 
cade climb the hill. The Sheriff’s men carried 
their rifles across their saddle bows, and the 
Mexican plodded wearily on foot with his shackled 
hands behind his back. 


CHAPTER V 


During Mary’s preparations for her visit to her 
Cousin Marianna, Louie spent very little of his 
time at the Ranch house. Long before daybreak 
he was away day after day, in company with his 
foreman, a silent, capable man from Massachu¬ 
setts, who had left the Forest Service for the 
better wage of Louie Barbano’s foreman. To¬ 
gether they rode the range after Louie’s long 
horned herds. 

Mary complained at this on the rare occasions 
when she saw Louie; but she was too busy getting 
together the “ lots a close ” with which to dazzle 
Cousin Marianna’s envious eyes, to pay much 
attention. When she was not engaged in opening 
boxes of new garments, she was busy writing 
orders to New York, Chicago, Kansas City and 
St. Louis. 

The diamonds came and she selected two ornate 
rings, a blinding sunburst and a glittering comb. 
To these Louie added a handsome bracelet. 

She chided him. “ It is too much, Louee.” 

“ Nothing is too much — under the circum¬ 
stances, Mary,” he assured her with a smile, and 
whistling softly he made out the check well up in 
the thousands. 

The bills for her outfitting mounted up rapidly, 


76 


The Closed Road 


but only once he remarked it. Once when Mary 
held up a fashionable horror of her own choosing, 
he said: u Seems a pity to waste good money on 
such a looking garment as that, Mary.” 

Mary’s parrot eyes popped open wide. “ Such 
a looka one, Louee! Why, it is lovlee. It a costa 
th’ two hundred dollars.” 

Her preparations ended at last and the moment 
arrived when he put his wife and child into a 
Pullman at Ashfork, received Mary’s last moist 
kiss and smothering embrace, and gave her the 
final instruction as to hotels and steamers. 

“ Now, Louise, kiss your poppa. And be a good 
boy, Louee,” sobbed Mary; “ and write lots a 
letters to poor me.” 

Louie promised, kissed his child, and the train 
pulled out, leaving him on the pavement drawing 
in the breath of a free man. 

A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder. 

“ Hell — o! See what’s come to town! ” 

Louie swung around to see Sheriff Jim Meredith 
with his right arm in a sling. “ Hello, yourself! 
What’s happened to you? ” 

The Sheriff screwed his face cunningly. “ That’s 
what I want to know. Didn’t I see you putting 
a lady on the train? ” 

“ Just my wife,” Louie answered mildly. “ She’s 
taking a little trip over to Portugal.” 

“ Huh! ” The Sheriff’s mouth and eyes opened. 
He slapped Louie’s back heavily again and 
laughed immoderately. “ To Portugal! I’ll bet 
that little old dago burg looks good to you, hey? ” 


The Closed Road 


77 


Louie grinned pleasantly. “ Come inside, and 
let’s see what Jake’s got since I was here last.” 

They passed into the bar of the big hotel. Over 
their glasses, Louie said again, “ What happened 
to you? Fall out of bed? ” 

“ Mexican John’s compliments. Didn’t you 
hear about it? Where you been? ” 

“ Playing safe. Where’d you find him? Get 
them both? ” Louie’s face was all eagerness. 

Meredith tasted his whiskey. “ You know 
that place down at Rock Creek, Bronson’s? ” 

The liquor in Louie’s glass slopped suddenly. 

“ Get him near there? ” 

“ Right in the house, by George! ” 

“ Good God!” 

“ Yes. Wasn’t that hell? ” Do you know the 
young lady there? ” 

“ I’ve seen her.” 

“ Some merry little sport, I’d say,” observed the 
bar tender. 

Louie emptied his glass. “ Let’s get outside.” 
He nodded to the man at the bar. 

“ That’s all right, Barbano.” 

They went out together, the Sheriff talking 
earnestly, and gesticulating with his free hand. 

When Louie had heard Jim Meredith’s story, he 
cut his Ashfork visit to a minimum. In Jose’s 
stable he saddled and bridled Berold, leaped on to 
his back and set the stallion into his swift gallop 
toward the south. 


CHAPTER VI 


When Uncle Joe came home the evening of 
Mexican John’s capture Crevola, suppressing her 
part in it, told him all about it; and the broken 
closet shelves where the Mexican had fought like 
a wild cat, the shattered door, and splintered walls, 
lent weight to her story. 

Uncle Joe sighed thankfully. “ It’s a good 
thing you got him out of your aunt’s room into 
the kitchen. Don’t let her worry about it. I’m 
glad he’s caught. I got to thinking about him 
after I was gone, and your aunt here all alone with 
nobody but you. Well, let’s have supper. I’m 
tired, and I suppose I’ll have to fix up the closet 
shelves. Why didn’t you take him outside while 
you were at it? ” 

“ I had to do what I could, Uncle,” said Crevola. 
She felt a little chilled as she went about putting 
the steaming supper on the table. Why didn’t 
Uncle Joe ever think about her? But then, of 
course it was perfectly natural for him to think 
most about Aunt Rachel. 

Uncle Joe repaired the closet shelves and fixed 
up the door; and life went smoothly again. This 
incident, as that of Louie Barbano’s visit, quieted 
into obscurity except for one faint echo. 


The Closed Road 


79 


Sitting by Aunt Rachel's bed one afternoon 
reading aloud, Crevola saw a strange horse coming 
down the slope and through the aspen grove. 
With ’wonder and interest in her face, she ran to 
the window, to see a dust covered pinto and the 
freckled face of the young Deputy Sheriff. 

His wide hat, chaps and spurs, the pistol at his 
hip, the green neckerchief knotted around his 
throat, changed him not at all from the day he 
assisted in the capture of Mexican John. But 
today he was freshly shaven and wore new buck¬ 
skin gloves with long fringed wrists. 

He kept looking toward the house as he rode 
and inostensibly set the Pinto at a little bucking 
stunt, which he took easily. At the gate he dis¬ 
mounted, brushed his boots with a handkerchief, 
removed one glove and settled his neckerchief. 
It was rather interesting to watch him. From 
behind the curtain, Crevola speculated as to what 
had brought him back. “ I hope there aren't any 
more Mexicans," she said. I wonder if he's 
coming in? " for the visitor laid one hand hesi¬ 
tantly on the gate. 

Just then Uncle Joe rode around the corner on 
Gray Bell, and the young man turned toward him. 
He acted very cordial — put out his hand which 
Uncle Joe evidently didn’t see, for he folded his 
own on the pommel of his saddle, and just nodded 
his head. 

The talk lasted perhaps ten minutes, and Uncle 
Joe rode off toward the stable, leaving the young 
Deputy standing there. He moved uncertainly 


80 


The Closed Road 


once or twice, looking toward the house, then he 
got on the Pinto and rode out again. 

Crevola looked and felt disappointed as she 
went back to her book. She wished he had come 
in and talked to her a while, he seemed so kind the 
day of the capture. She took up her book dis¬ 
consolately. It hadn’t occurred to her to go out 
and speak to him. 

She looked up when Uncle Joe came in with his 
long, thin gray hair sticking out from under his 
hat brim. 

“ That was one of the men who helped capture 
Mexican John, Uncle,” she said. “ What did he 
want? ” 

Uncle Joe sat down heavily in a rocking chair. 
“ I reckon he wanted to introduce himself. He 
said he was Curly Jacobson, and said his father 
knew me, and asked me if I remembered his 
father.” 

“ Did you, Uncle Joe? ” asked Crevola inter¬ 
estedly. 

“ Yes.” Uncle Joe laid his hat on the floor and 
reached for his spectacles. “ I remember him all 
right. He stole the best colt I ever raised. I told 
young Curly I’d always remember him for it.” 

Crevola laid down her book with a small sigh 
and went into the kitchen. She dreamed that 
night that young Curly came again and tried to 
open the door, but somebody held it shut on the 
inside. 

But he did not come back. The sparse grass on 
the mesa became brown and dry, the little green 


The Closed Road 


81 


plums on the plum tree grew as large as a man’s 
thumb, and still each day was just like the pre¬ 
ceding one. 

One warm evening after supper was over, and 
Aunt Rachel in bed for the night, Crevola left 
Uncle Joe smoking and dozing in his chair under 
the rose hedge, and went out on the road. 

The sun was gone save for a red glow on the 
tree tops, the wind carried on its warm breath 
the sound of the rushing water from the creek 
below. 

The lamb, seeing Crevola’s white dress from 
afar, came after her ba-a-ing as a child running and 
crying, “ Wait, wait for me! ” 

She sat down on a rock by the roadside and 
waited cm til it came and thrust its nose under her 
hand. 

Putting her arm around its neck she rubbed her 
cheek against its soft wool. “ Poor little lone¬ 
some lamb! Isn’t this a curious world, Pet Lamb, 
with not a soul to talk to— not a person except us 
two, you and me? And our conversations aren’t 
very interesting, are they? Because we don’t 
understand each other very well. Doesn’t it 
seem among all the people there must be in the 
world, that there might be one to talk to you and 
me? ” 

Possibly from habit her glance went from the 
lamb’s face to the mesa rim. Her heart bounded. 
There against the horizon’s pale glow loomed a 
dark shape — a horse and rider. They dipped 


82 


The Closed Road 


over the mesa edge and came swiftly down the 
slope. 

She sprang up, shading her eyes with her hand. 
Surely there was no other living horse like that! 
And she could not be mistaken. The rider was 
he whom she only, of all the world, knew as 
Count Piero de Grassi. 

Her face flushed exquisitely. The wonder and 
surprise were reflected in the deep wells of her 
eyes, as Louie Barbano drew rein beside her, and 
leaping from his saddle, sombrero in hand, greeted 
her with a smile and glance that proclaimed her 
as something more than a friend. 

She gave him her hand happily. “ Oh, it is 
you! ” she cried. 

“ Yes, it is I, at last,” and she did not under¬ 
stand the tremor in his voice — “ and I ask for a 
night’s lodging for me and my horse.” 

Again she flushed and turned her face bright as 
a cactus bloom toward the great horse. 

He stood with raised head and dilating nostrils, 
looking at her with gleaming eyes. His fine ears 
pointed forward as if listening; alert and wary 
with flecks of white foam on his chest; and his 
neck was black with sweat. 

“ Berold.” Advancing, she put out her hand 
quietly and touched the stallion’s nose. 

He trembled and snorted. 

“ Be careful,” said Louie. “ You are a wonder, 
but I can’t let you take chances with Berold.” 

“ You have ridden him too hard,” reproached 
Crevola. 


The Closed Road 


83 


Louie threw back his head and laughed. “ He 
hasn’t broken a gallop since we left Ashfork.” 

“ All those miles! You will kill him.” 

“ You don’t know my horse.” He laid his hand 
proudly on the wet neck; “ He could gallop back 
again, and never quicken his breath.” 

“ Oh, he is wonderful! ” she cried. “ But come 
in. Uncle is here, and I want him to see Berold.” 

She went ahead with quick steps that kept him, 
even with his longer stride, on the alert. But 
perfectly willing, in this instance, to be put second 
to his horse, Louie Barbano followed her leading 
Berold, who objected strongly to the presence of 
the lamb. 

“ Uncle, Uncle Joe!” called Crevola as they 
reached the gate. 

The old man raised his head, uncrossed his 
knees, and rose, coming stiffly down the walk 
with his pipe in his hand. 

Louie watched the old man keenly as Crevola 
presented him. 

“ Eh, Crevola? ” said Uncle Joe with his hand 
to his ear. “ I didn’t catch the name.” 

“ De Grassi,” supplied Louie promptly, extend¬ 
ing his hand, certain now that Joe Bronson did not 
recognize him from their former meeting at Camp 
Verde. He smiled frankly into Crevola’s amazed 
face. 

“ Why not? ” he said. “ Why not have a little 
play? You could be the Princess of the Silent 
House.” 


84 


The Closed Road 


Crevola smiled too; but she shook her head. 
“ I am afraid I do not know how to be a princess.” 

“ Talk louder, Crevola,” said the old man; 
“ I can’t hear what you say.” His annoyed face 
brightened. “ But where did you get this horse, 
man? What a horse he is! What a horse!” He 
turned toward the stallion. Berold snorted and 
pawed, but Louie had him well in hand. 

“ Don’t get too close, sir. He’s a bit wild yet,” 
cautioned Louie. 

“ I see, I see,” said Joe Bronson. “ Plenty of 
spirit. You didn’t get at him young enough. 
I’ve handled thousands of ’em. It takes time. 
But he’s not like anything I ever saw! Where 
was he bred? Who sired him? ” 

“ I can’t tell you that,” said Louie; “ I wish I 
could. I caught him on the Painted Desert. 
The Wallipais say he was never foaled, but is 
the spirit of an Apache chief that cannot die.” 

“ Indian nonsense! There’s no skulking Apache 
in him. Imported blood, I’d say, on one side or 
both, gone wild on the desert. Eh? But where 
are you headed? It’s late. You had better stop 
for the night.” He turned to the amazed girl. 
“ Ask the gentleman into the house, Crevola; 
and see if you can’t scratch up a bit of supper. 
Ranch fare, you understand,” he added, returning 
to Louie. “ I’ll take your horse.” 

“ Let me wait on myself,” said Louie with his 
friendly smile; “ I am used to it.” 

Crevola flew into the kitchen in a tumult of 
amazement. She had not heard Uncle Joe speak 


The Closed Road 


85 


like that for years. It was almost like his old 
self when hospitality had been his pride. But, of 
course Berold would wake anybody up! And 
what was there in the house for supper? 

She hastened with the meal. She did not know 
as she heard Louie’s pleasant voice from the rose 
hedge in conversation with her uncle, that he was 
exerting himself to improve the opening Berold 
had made for him; but she did notice that Uncle 
Joe’s burst of hospitality was giving way to his 
usual taciturnity. 

After supper was over Crevola hung a lantern 
in the porch, and again they sat outside on the 
flagged walk. Soon Uncle Joe’s head began to 
nod, and he said it was his bed time. So he went 
away, leaving the house’s hospitality in Crevola’s 
hands. 

After the sound of his footsteps died away, and 
the two were alone, the silence seemed to deepen, 
and become oppressive. The night air, still and 
laden with the scent of falling rose petals, closed 
around them. Louie spoke first. 

“ It seems a long time since I was here,” he said. 

“ It has been a long time,” she answered; “ the 
roses were only budded then, and now they are 
past their full bloom.” 

“ And during the time, you have been doing 
wonderful, heroic things.” 

“ I? ” she said incredulously; “ I haven’t done 
anything.” 

He got up and took a seat nearer, where he 
could see her face better in the dim light of the 


86 


The Closed Road 


lantern. “ Then Jim Meredith told me a lie. 
But it was a good story. I believed it.” 

“ Oh! About Mexican John. I didn’t want 
you to know that,” she said, distressed. “ Did he 
tell you? It was such a foolish thing to do.” 

“ Foolish! ” His voice trembled as he leaned 
toward her. “ It was the bravest, finest thing a 
woman ever did. Foolish? Not one woman in a 
hundred would have thought of it; and not one 
in a thousand would have had the courage to do it. 
And to think what you were going through! 
While I —” He checked himself. 

She could not see his face, but his voice, low and 
intense, perplexed her. Flinging his half smoked 
cigarette to the ground, he got up, paced down the 
path and back again. 

“ When I think of you in that beast’s foul 
hands —” 

A slight shiver passed over her. “ That was 
horrible! his blood-stained hands. Yet he didn’t 
harm me,” she went on quietly. The light shone 
on her slender, ghostly white figure and her faintly 
troubled face with deep, unfathomable eyes. It 
almost lost him his self control. 

“ He didn’t frighten me very much,” she con¬ 
tinued; “ he was so wretched, until I learned the 
officers were after him, and that he was Mexican 
John, and realized how terribly important it was 
to capture him. The idea of what to do came to 
me as I stood there, for of course I knew that I 
must not let them go without telling them he was 
there.” 


The Closed Road 


87 


“ Good Heavens, Miss Bronson! ” Louie folded 
his arms tightly across his breast, and sat silent, 
fighting his desire to take her in his arms. 

The light shone steadily on her face, beautiful, 
serene and courageous. Louie was not used to 
self denial. He bent toward her. 

Unconscious of the tumult within him, she 
rested her eyes, like deep, clear pools, on him, 
“ Could I? ” she asked. 

He drew back suddenly, as a man finding him¬ 
self on the edge of a precipice overcomes his own 
impetus by a backward fling. 

“ Mr. Meredith was kind to me, and asked me 
to come and see his wife.” 

He reached for his tobacco pouch with tremu¬ 
lous fingers, and sat silent rolling a cigarette. 
With the first long pull at his smoke his hands 
steadied, and his voice regained its firm, pleasant 
quality. 

“ And the young man? ” he asked carelessly, 
leaning back with his elbow across the arm of the 
chair, “ has he been back to see you since? ” 

“ He was here but I only saw him from the 
window.” There was a trace of regret in her 
voice that did not escape him. “ Uncle talked to 
him outside. He does not often ask people to 
come in. But I don't suppose he wanted to see 
me,” she added. 

Louie laughed silently, imagining the young 
Deputy’s discomfiture. To ride fifty miles to talk 
to Uncle! And then face around fifty miles back. 
Poor Bill! 


88 


The Closed Road 


“ He must have come to see you,” he said; 
“ just as the other young men come.” 

“ The other young men? ” She looked at him 
quietly amazed. 

“ Yes.” He watched her intently. “ The ones 
who come to see you. You must have many 
lovers.” 

“ I? I have none,” she confessed without em¬ 
barrassment. “ I don’t know any men except 
Gonzales; and he is old and queer, and ugly to 
look at.” 

He threw back his handsome head and laughed 
out, and she laughed too. “ Gonzales! I know 
Gonzales. No, I’m afraid he’s hopeless.” He 
laughed again and said: “ Then you think a lover 
should be young? ” 

“ I think he ought not to be queer.” 

“ He should be young, and not queer, and — 
what else? ” He watched her face, smiling, his 
eyes intent. “ Should he be like — well, like me, 
for instance? ” 

Her sweet serenity charmed him. Weighing 
him lightly with her eyes she answered, “ Per¬ 
haps.” 

“ What if I should become your lover? ” he 
hazarded, leaning toward her until the light fell on 
his attractive face. 

She gave him a startled glance. But he smiled 
and her anxiety relaxed to a musical laugh. 
“ How funny you are! I thought at first you 
were serious.” 


The Closed Road 89 

He laughed too, taking care to keep up the 
illusion of jest. 

“ And why shouldn’t I be serious? ” His 
humorous eyes belied his words. 

“ Because you have a wife. And married men 
can’t think of other women that way. Can they?” 

He sat up straight in his chair as one who has 
had ice dropped down his neck. 

“ Certainly not,” he said promptly. “ You are 
very right. As for me — I am thankful to be 
able to say that I have never given a second 
thought to any woman except my dear wife.” 

He laughed harshly, and his mocking tone 
brought a questioning look into her eyes. He 
laughed again, a low, amused laugh, and his voice 
became gentle. 

“ You have much to learn yet, child. But 
someone will come some day and take you away 
from this.” 

“ Do you think so? ” she asked eagerly; “ I 
shall be so glad.” 

“ There is no doubt,” he said with conviction. 
And even as he spoke, something challenged him, 
pitted him against that as yet chimerical man 
who would come in one day over the edge of the 
mesa, and take the girl out into the world. Again 
he sat silent and looked at her as she sat in her 
habitually resigned attitude, her hands folded, her 
mysterious eyes looking out into space. 

“ But you should have more life now.” 

She shook her head. “ There is no way.” 

“ Oh, yes there is,” he said kindly. “ There are 


90 


The Closed Road 


dozens of ways of doing things if one goes at them. 
Let me help you. I can find a way. You 
mustn’t continue to live like this. You’re not 
getting your share of young life.” 

She sat up suddenly alert, listening, putting up 
her hand for silence. She jumped to her feet. 
“It is Aunt,” she said hastily; “ in one of her 
coughing spells.” She left him precipitately. 

During her absence of at least ten minutes, 
Louie smoked and thought and planned. 

“ You won’t mind? ” she said returning. “ When 
she begins to cough I must get there at once.” 

“ Is she better? ” he asked with ready sym¬ 
pathy. “ Don’t consider me. I’ve been thinking 
while you were gone; and I’ve thought of some¬ 
thing to help you. You should have someone 
with you, a woman, in case your aunt should get 
very ill. Would you consider an Indian woman? 
I know of one who needs a home. She is young 
and strong, and very capable, and an excellent 
nurse. She would be very grateful for a home, 
and would stay for that. She would relieve you a 
great deal.” 

“ How kind you are! I do feel that I can’t do 
for Aunt all that should be done; but I will have 
to see what Uncle says.” 

She did not resume her seat, but stood a dim, 
white shape under the shadow of the roses. “ I 
think it is getting late. Perhaps you would like 
to go to bed. And you must come in tonight. 
You are our guest, and it isn’t hospitable that you 
should stay outside.” 


The Closed Road 


91 


“ Thank you.” He rose, flung away his ciga¬ 
rette, and followed her into the house. 

Inside the screen porch she took down the 
lantern and led the way through the long, bare 
room and up the narrow stair, to a small, square 
landing which opened on three doors. 

“ In here/’ she said, opening one on the left, 
and handing him the lantern. “ I hope you will 
sleep well. It is very quiet up here because we all 
sleep down stairs.” 

“ Oh, I shall sleep splendidly,” he assured her, 
taking the lantern from her hand. 

“ Then I’ll say good night.” 

“ Good night,” he answered. “ But take the 
light. I shall not need it, and the stair is dark.” 

“ I know my way perfectly,” she said, starting 
down. “ Keep it. The place is strange to you.” 

“ Then let me hold it until you reach the foot in 
safety.” He did so, watching her trip down the 
short flight. 

At the foot she turned, looked up at him, and 
waved her hand. 

“ Thank you. I am safe. Good night.” 

“ Good night,” he answered again and felt a 
surge of passionate desire for her sweep over him. 
He went inside the big, scantily furnished room 
and closed the door. Yet all night long, sleeping 
or waking he saw her slender, white clad figure in 
the narrow funnel of the stairway, with her smiling, 
pale spirit face upturned and her hand raised in 
farewell. 

Next morning he rose early and was just in time 


92 


The Closed Road 


to prevent the old man from attempting to lead 
Berold down to water. He improved the oppor¬ 
tunity to win over the old recluse. He was clever 
enough to know that Curly Robinson’s fate might 
easily be his. Before breakfast was ready, Louie 
had helped take care of the horses, milk the cows 
and had filled the old man with genuine admiration 
by chopping a creditable pile of wood. 

This he carried into the kitchen, finding Crevola 
at the table making biscuits, fresh as the morning 
in a pink gingham apron, and cheeks as pink as 
the bowl of roses on the breakfast table. 

“ What are you doing? ” she protested as he 
came in bareheaded his arms piled high with 
newly cut gray cottonwood sticks. 

He smiled at her over the top of his load, de¬ 
posited it carefully in the wood box by the stove, 
and turned toward her, brushing his sleeves. 

“ I do that every morning at home,” he said 
with cheerful untruth; “ to get up my appetite 
for breakfast. May I bring another load? ” 

The girl’s charm for Louie intensified during 
the simple breakfast, over which she presided with 
graceful dignity, in her pink gingham. He con¬ 
trasted her with his wife in her soiled morning 
finery, then with other women of his acquaintance. 
Planning ahead, he saw the Indian woman assum¬ 
ing much of her responsibilities, and the girl free 
for his pleasure. 

Thinking thus, after breakfast he presented his 
proposition to Joe Bronson from the viewpoint of 
greater comfort for the invalid, and the homeless 


The Closed Road 


93 


woman’s need: he did not mention Crevola in the 
matter. The allusion to Rachel won the old man’s 
consent. He still had in mind the memory of the 
Mexican’s visit. 

After his talk with the uncle, Louie went back 
to the house to bid Crevola good-bye. He found 
her in the living room bending over the old aunt, 
feeding her from a bowl of bread and milk. 

She set the bowl on the table and came to meet 
him. 

“ I must not interrupt your aunt’s breakfast,” 
he said; “ but I am going. I have been talking 
to your uncle, and he is willing to take the Indian 
woman. When can she come? ” 

“ Any time. At once if she wants to.” 

“ Thank you. Expect her then next week. 
She is very capable and willing. You will find her 
much help, I am sure. And I am coming again 
soon.” 

He pressed her hand, released it and went out. 

Crevola ran to the window to watch him mount 
the great stallion who reared and fought and sent 
a shrill neigh of farewell to the horses in the stable, 
as he disappeared around the corner. 


CHAPTER VII 


When Louie passed through Ashfork on his way 
home, he stopped and ordered a box of books and 
a number of magazines to be sent to Crevola; 
also a costly Victrola and cabinet of selected 
records. These he meant to break the silence 
that hung so heavily over the old house. 

Now he was on his way to arrange for Navajo 
Kate’s going. His progress across the courtyard 
was delayed owing to the fact, that Berold in an 
ugly mood, reared and plunged and fought every 
step of the way like the half tamed thing he was. 

Sitting confidently in the saddle, Louie took the 
stallion’s antics with apparent indifference; yet 
his jaw was firmly set and his hand on the bridle, 
hard and merciless. 

Halting under the slender pine that stood in 
front of the Navajo’s cottage, he dismounted. 

Recognizing his momentary advantage, Berold, 
with a savage gleam in his eyes, reared and struck 
viciously with both front feet. As he leaped 
aside from the reach of those murderous hoofs, 
Louie felt the wind of their swift descent. 

“ Watch out, old fellow,” he said in a threaten¬ 
ing tone which Berold undoubtedly recognized and 
respected, “ I’ll take that out of you pretty 
soon, if you’re not in too big a hurry! ” 

With his ears laid flat against his head, Berold 


The Closed Road 95 

rolled his wicked eyes; but he submitted to being 
tied to the tree. 

Drawing the tether tightly Louie stepped back, 
an alert, lithe figure in his buckskin shirt and 
brown bear hide chaps, and wide hat pulled low 
over his eyes. 

He took off his spurs and started up the neat 
brick walk that led to the cottage door. 

Months had passed since Louie had gone up 
that walk that divided the garden in halves, and 
the place seemed strange. The dried stalks on 
either side had been luxuriant corn and melons. 
Now a few ragged turnips and tender sprouts of 
green onions were all that remained of the season’s 
garden. 

His face was grave under his broad hat, and his 
head not quite erect as he paused at the stone step 
where a gray cat lay lazily in the sun while a 
kitten played with her tail. He stepped aside 
that he need not disturb them. 

It was hardly necessary to knock. The door 
stood wide open letting the afternoon sun pour 
into the room lighting the whole interior as a 
searchlight. The room was neat with a gay red 
and white rug on the board floor, and a green blind 
at the window. There were some chairs and near 
the wall a table held some magazines, a leather 
covered Bible and a small crucifix. 

Kate herself sat in the center of the room at a 
sewing machine. At her left stood a wicker cradle 
with a beautifully patterned Navajo blanket 
tucked in at the corners. 


96 


The Closed Road 


As Louie’s shadow fell across the floor the 
Navajo woman rose quickly and faced him, a tall, 
stately figure in coarse brown gingham, a white 
band about her black hair, her face impassive, and 
a strange humility in her dumb eyes. 

“ May I come in, Kate? ” Louie took off his 
hat and gloves as he crossed the threshold. 

Without speaking she offered him a chair which 
he did not take. 

“ How are you? ” he asked. 

Her dark eyes searched his eyes, traveled over 
his alert figure down to his high heeled boots, and 
back again to his face of polite concern. She 
dropped her gaze to the lengths of blue print in 
her hands. 

“ I’m well,” she said sullenly. 

“ Is there anything you want? Anything I can 
do for you? ” 

She scrutinized his face again, then stooping 
swiftly, threw back the cradle blanket and lifted 
the sleeping baby in her arms. 

Surprised out of its sleep, the little brown face 
puckered and squirmed, the tiny fists opened and 
shut impotently. 

With native grace, and the look of proud anxiety 
with which a mother dog watches the review of 
her blind puppies, Kate held out the baby toward 
him. 

With his hands behind his back, Louie advanced 
and stood for a moment looking gravely down into 
the tiny face. 


The Closed Road 97 

The baby opened its dark eyes and gazed sol¬ 
emnly at him. 

He stepped back until the chair was between 
them. 

“ Some day he will be a fine man, Kate, who will 
make his mother proud.” 

Her face grew impassive. Turning she placed 
the baby in the cradle again, tucked the blanket 
about the little form and sat down in her chair, 
her back to Louie. 

A glove slipped out of his hand to the floor with 
a dull thud. He stooped to pick it up, his face 
flushing. 

“ What shall I do, Kate? ” he asked; “ for you 
and for him? What would you like? ” 

She did not turn her head. “ Nothing? ” 

He brushed a fleck of mud off his sleeve left 
there by Berold’s hoof. “ There must be things 
I can do, and will. You will probably think of 
them later. Just now there is a sick woman who 
needs a nurse. I told her you would come to 
her.” 

Kate said nothing. She sat pinning her 
print lengths together, making no sign of having 
heard. 

“ They w r ant a good nurse. I told them of you,” 
continued Louie in his level voice. 

Kate maintained her silence. The mother cat 
got up, hopped in through the door, and sitting 
down, proceeded to wash her face. 

“ I want you to go,” said Louie. 


98 


The Closed Road 


She felt constrained to speak. u Is she young 
or old? ” 

“ Old and helpless. It will be worth your while, 
Kate.” He took a roll of bills from his pocket 
and laid them on the machine. 

She pushed them off on to the floor. “ I not go,” 
she said defiantly. “ I not go.” 

Louie stooped and picked up the money and laid 
it back on the machine. “ Yes, you’re going, 
Kate,” he said decisively. 

She flung up her white banded head. “ What 
make you think so, Louie Barbano? ” 

“ Because I have promised them that you would 
come; and because it is best for you and for — 
him,— what do you call him, your baby? ” 

She got up, letting her sewing slip to the floor, 
facing him angrily: “ I call him Louie Barbano! ” 

His lips tightened. “ You do? ” he asked in a 
keen edged voice; “ You told the Father so? 
You had him christened when the Father was 
here? ” 

Her bosom heaved, but her eyes fell. “ No, I 
not tell the Father.” 

“ See here, Kate,” his voice was low and pa¬ 
tient, yet incisive. “ You are a Christian. You 
have learned a great many things at the schools 
that your race do not know. You were married 
in the chapel by the priest, just as white women 
are. Your man was a white man from Texas, 
Charley Ralston, we called him. You were raised 
in a white man’s house, like a white woman. Is 


The Closed Road 


99 


it sensible to forget that your baby is Charley 
Ralston too? ” 

Her head drooped. She stooped and picked up 
her sewing. 

“ Some day,” Louie went on, “ your boy will 
be a fine big man, and he shall learn all that the 
schools can teach him, not only the Indian school 
at Truxton, but anywhere he wishes to go. Ill 
see to that. But just now this white woman 
needs you, so Wallipai George will come for you 
in two days or three, whenever you are ready. 
And since there is illness in the house, you had 
better leave your baby here. Wallipai Jane will 
take care of him.” 

Her eyes flared at him a tragic look. 

a I won’t! I not leave my baby. My baby to 
dirty Wallipais? I am a Navajo! No, no, Louie! 
I can’t. I want my baby! ” Her defiance was a 
cry. 

His stern face softened. “ It won’t be long,” 
he said more gently than he had yet spoken. 
“ The white woman is sick, very sick. It can’t 
be long.” 

“ Then why —? ” 

“ Because it is best that you leave him here,” 
he answered inflexibly. “ You must not take 
him.” 

Her eyes still burned, but she dropped her head 
in sullen submission. 

He looked relieved. “ That’s a good girl, Kate. 
Be ready in a couple of days. It will be all right, 
and best for everybody.” 


> 

» ) 


> 3 


100 


The Closed Road 


He went out, and turned to speak again; but 
Kate stood beside the cradle, her tragic face lifted 
up, fiercely straining her baby to her breast. 

His face darkened, and as he untied Berold and 
leaped into the saddle, the curse that fell from his 
lips was not for the desperate-faced mother, nor 
yet for the half tamed stallion pitching under him. 

He did not see her again but two days later 
when Wallipai George, driving two wiry young 
mules to an open wagon, stopped in front of her 
house and called: “ Kate, you come? ” she 
answered “ Yes.” 

With no show of haste, the Indian shoved on the 
brake with one heavily booted foot, tipped his 
slouched black hat over his fat face and lounged 
back in the seat to wait. 

In a few minutes Kate came out and laid a 
canvas bag on the step. Going back, she re¬ 
appeared with a long, dark cloak over her red wool 
dress, a red shawl wound tightly around her head, 
and her sleeping baby on her arm, in the white 
woman’s way. Her face was expressionless, but 
her eyes glistened with a dew that in a white 
woman would have been tears. They kindled 
with a sullen fire as they perceived Wallipai Jane 
coming across the courtyard toward her with the 
slow, shuffling walk of the Indian woman. 

Kate paused behind the wagon. “ George,” 
she commanded coldly, pointing to the canvas 
bundle, “ Get it.” 

George roused himself, climbed sheepishly from 
his perch, and obeyed. 


The Closed Road 


101 


Wallipai Jane shuffled up, holding her dirty 
calico shawl together with one hand. “ You go, 
Kate? ” 

“Yes/’ said Kate briefly, standing erect and 
unmoving, with her baby clasped tightly in her 
arms, her burning eyes resting on its face. 

Wallipai George came slouching back with the 
bundle, heaved it into the wagon and said: 

“ Ugh.” 

The Navajo started as one waked from a dream. 
She held her baby against her face in one last 
hungry embrace, then held it out toward the 
Wallipai. 

“ Take him,” she said in a low, fierce voice. 
“ Be careful him. He is a Navajo.” Thrusting 
him into the older woman’s ready arms, she 
climbed into the wagon. As Wallipai George 
slapped his lines and kicked off his break, she 
said over her shoulder: 

“ I come back.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


A few days later, Crevola had two surprises in 
one day. One mid-afternoon brought a dapper 
young Mexican with a load of boxes for the 
Senorita Bronson. 

“ You mistake / 7 said Crevola at the screen door. 
“ They aren’t mine. I have ordered nothing.” 

He smiled at the tall, white Senorita with her 
background of blossoming roses. He pushed his 
black hat with its tiny green feather, farther to 
one side, shrugged his shoulders, spread out his 
expressive brown hands, and bade her come to 
the gate and see. 

Somewhat reluctantly, Crevola started to follow 
him, but he fell back by her side, talking volubly. 
She answered briefly his remarks about the roses, 
the heat on the mesa, and the inviting coolness of 
the garden; and hurried to the gate where his two 
restless dun mules stood hitched to a light wagon. 

“Perdon, perdon, Senorita! Can I be mistake? 
You are the Senorita Bronson? ” He turned the 
boxes for her to see the labels. 

“It is my name,” said Crevola; “ but I have 
ordered nothing. Where did you get them? ” 

“ The expressman at Ashfork say ‘ Deliver . 7 I 
deliver. Where can I put those? 77 


The Closed Road 


103 


“ It doesn’t seem right to leave them here at 
all,” protested Crevola. 

He shrugged again. “ What shall I do with 
those box? They are mark ‘ Senorita Bronson.’ ” 

“ Well,” said Crevola doubtfully; “ bring them 
in. But Uncle isn’t here; there is no one to help 
you.” 

“ No matter.” With surprising strength the 
wiry little Mexican carried his load into the 
living room. Then with smiles, and admiring 
glances, to which Crevola paid no attention, he 
left her staring at the boxes. 

When he was gone, with her face still full of 
puzzled wonder, Crevola got a hammer and opened 
the boxes. Just inside the cover, she found a 
card on which was written in a bold hand, the 
name of Count Piero de Grassi. 

Her face flushed brightly. “ The idea! ” she 
cried. “ Wliy, the idea! I must go tell Aunt 
Rachel! ” 

With her arms full of books she hurried in to tell 
her aunt all about the wonderful surprise. 

The old woman lying with closed eyes, opened 
them once or twice during the girl’s excited story. 
At its end she shifted her head on the pillow, and 
said faintly: 

“ Ain’t it time for my soup? ” 

The light faded from Crevola’s face. She got 
up slowly, laid her books aside, fixed the soup and 
fed Aunt Rachel. Then she went back to finish 
opening her boxes. The books and magazines, 
the candy and fruit delighted her; but she did not 


104 


The Closed Road 


know what to do with the Victrola and records. 
She put them aside until Louie should come. 
She did not try to show the things to Uncle Joe, 
because he was never interested in her concerns. 

Later, when evening came while she was out 
feeding the chickens, she saw another wagon 
covered with dust, come out of the aspen grove 
and halt at the gate. 

She hurried to the house, but the wagon drove 
away after leaving a passenger. 

Crevola arrived a little breathless. “ You are 
Navajo Kate,” she said with a pretty air of wel¬ 
come to the impassive figure standing at the gate 
w T ith a canvas bundle at her feet. “ I did not 
think you would be here so soon; but I am glad 
to see you.” 

The Indian woman gave a sullen look from 
under her black brows at this slim young white 
woman in her blue dress, and her fine brown hair 
blowing about her uncovered head. 

“ Where sick woman? ” she said coldly. “ I 
come to take care of sick woman.” 

The smile faded from the girl’s face, and a wist¬ 
ful look came into her gray eyes. “ She’s in the 
house,” she answered gently. “ Come in. You 
must be very tired. Can I help you carry your 
things? ” 

“ No.” The Navajo picked up the bundle, 
slung it over her broad shoulder and passed 
through the gate Crevola held open. 

Inside the house, Crevola said kindly, “ Take 
off your things. You must be hungry. Uncle 


The Closed Road 


105 


and I have had supper; but I will fix some for you 
in a few minutes.” 

The Navajo had lowered her bundle, but she 
stood silent and rigid. Once or twice she raised 
her eyes and looked piercingly at the girl. Again 
she said: “ Where sick woman? ” 

“ She’s in bed now.” Crevola met her piercing 
gaze with sweet perplexity in her own. 

“ I like see her.” 

“ Now? ” 

The Indian woman nodded. Crevola led the 
way into the bedroom. 

Aunt Rachel lay asleep, breathing hoarsely, her 
white face sunk deep in the pillows. 

The Navajo stood looking down on her for many 
minutes, without a word. 

Crevola, shrinking from the chill of her manner, 
watched her sullen face. 

Finally she turned. “ Do I sit up? ” 

“ No,” assured Crevola; “ only if she should be 
very sick.” 

“ Where I sleep? ” 

“ In here.” Crevola indicated a small room 
opening out to the left. “ I put your cot in here. 
I used to sleep in this room, but I thought you 
might like the other better. Put your things in 
there, and I will get you some supper.” 

“No hungry,” she answered stolidly. “No 
supper.” 

“ It won’t take a minute,” assured Crevola. 

“ No want it.” She went out after her bundle, 


106 


The Closed Road 


and Crevola hastened to the kitchen, prepared a 
cup of hot soup and came back with it. 

The Navajo sat abjectly on the edge of the cot. 
She had removed her cloak and shawl revealing 
the heavy braids that seemed to weight her bowed 
head. 

“ Now drink this,” urged Crevola. 

At Crevola’s voice she raised her eyes, not hard 
and defiant now, but soft and full of animal misery. 
She obediently took the cup Crevola held out, 
drained it and handed it back. 

“ I hope you will like it here, Kate,” said Cre¬ 
vola sweetly. “ Aunt isn’t hard to take care of; 
she is so good and patient. Now I’m going to 
leave you, and I hope you will sleep. Good night.” 

Outside the room, Crevola beat her little closed 
fists together frantically. “ Dear me! Goodness! 
The poor thing! I hope she isn’t going to look at 
me like that all the time. She must be terribly 
unhappy.” 


CHAPTER IX 


In the course of his movements, Louie found 
himself again at Ashfork. He went into the post- 
office, for letters very often reached him there. 
He found one, directed in care of the Father, in 
Mary’s illiterate hand. 

Among other things, she said she was having a 
lovely journey as far as Little Rock, where the 
letter was posted; and there was such a nice 
gentleman who pulled such funny faces, that set 
them all screaming with laughter. All except 
Louise, who acted afraid of him. But she was 
having a wonderful time, although she knew that 
her Louee was missing her terribly! 

With a grimace Louie thrust the letter into his 
pocket, and strolled carelessly down to the big 
Santa Fe station, arriving just as the west-bound 
train came roaring in belching up furious clouds of 
black smoke against the blue sky. 

With his cigarette between his teeth, he idly 
watched the travelers descending from the coaches. 
A tall, gaunt, gray-bearded old man with two bulg¬ 
ing suitcases pulling on his arms, a couple of pretty 
girls who nodded as they passed him, a young 
tourist in tweeds, with his wife, evidently, and a 
large woman in shiny black satin and an enormous 
black hat followed. She stopped with her back 


108 


The Closed Road 


toward Louie and he gave a start of dismay. 
Then he laughed at himself. But she certainly 
did look like Mary for the instant! 

Another glance and he saw for whom she was 
pausing. The porter appeared carrying a sick 
child in his arms. Evidently the child was hers. 
She turned and he saw her anxious face. 

“ Good God! What has happened? ” 

With a dozen quick strides Louie was at his 
wife’s side, and touched her arm. “ Mary! 
What is the matter? ” 

Looking around, she saw him and flung herself 
on him. 

“ Oh, Louee! It bin you! I’m, glad! Our lil’ 
gel is terrible sick! What can we do? ” 

His face drew into anxious lines as he looked 
into the unconscious face of the child in the black 
porter’s arms. Supporting Mary’s quivering fig¬ 
ure he asked tensely: 

“ What’s the matter? How did it happen? 
When was she taken ill? ” 

“ Oh, Louee,” sobbed Mary. “ I can say 
nothings. I bring her back to you and Father 
Gregory. I telegraph for Dr. Franklin. Oh, 
Louee! My lil’ gel! Is the doc came? ” 

“ I’ve not seen him. Tell me about it. Don’t 
cry so! Did you telegraph here for rooms? ” 

“ No. I could not a-think. Oh, Louee, my 
blessed lil’ gel! ” 

“ All right.” Louie disengaged himself. “ I’ll 
attend to it. Did Dr. Franklin answer? This 
way, Porter.” 


The Closed Road 


109 


“ He say he meet the train/’ said Mary running 
to keep up with his swift stride; then falling back 
beside the porter. 

Twenty minutes later Louie had secured a 
pleasant suite of rooms opening to the east, and 
little Louise lay in a state of coma among the soft 
pillows, her thin white face outlined by her dark 
hair. 

Louie stood beside her, his handsome face full of 
anxiety and bewilderment. He had one arm about 
his wife who sobbed noisily on his shoulder. 

Dr. Franklin sat by the bed searching for the 
pulse in the limp little wrist hanging across his 
fingers. He turned his strong, ruddy face with 
his keen gray eyes under the mass of silvery white 
hair, toward Louie. 

“ What happened to her? The child has had 
some severe shock.” 

“ My wife was on her way to New York. Louise 
was with her,” he explained. “ What happened, 
Mary? ” 

Mary fell to sobbing more violently. “ I do not 
a know, Louee.” 

His face grew puzzled. “ Were you with her 
all the time, Mary? ” he asked patiently. “ You 
did not leave her with anyone? ” 

“ Every minute, Louee! I did not a leave her 
one second! ” 

“ Then you must know what happened,” he 
insisted. 

“ I don’t,” protested Mary, wiping away her 
copious tears; “ I don’t know nothings, except 


110 


The Closed Road 


there bin a man who pulled such funny faces. It 
maka everybody laugh ’bout to death, except 
Louise who all times cry. He fetcha the orange, 
and the candy, and everything to him; but all 
times she bin fright’. 

“ I talk, an’ scold, an’ coax; but it don’t do no 
good. Then Mr. Manuel Ortego, he say 1 Let me 
show him, Mrs. Barbano, I nota hurt.’ So he 
take Louise up on his knees and talk a th’ lil’ bit, 
and she not seem to scare — then he pull some 
face to show her — such a funny! I most a 
croak wit’ laugh. But Louise — he scream an’ 
scream —” 

“ Mary! You didn’t sit there and let that 
damned idiot scare the child into spasms! ” 

“ But, Louee—” Mary began sobbing afresh. 
“ He was a nica man. He not a hurt none. She 
just a scare.” 

“ Sit down, Mary. Hush crying like that.” 
With his face angry and stern Louie placed his 
wife in a chair, where she crouched, sobbing 
miserably. 

“ And then, Mrs. Barbano,” Dr. Franklin’s 
calm voice insisted; “ What did you do? ” 

“I — I nota know what to do! ” wailed Mary, 
wringing her fat hands until the diamonds cut 
into the soft flesh, “ He scream, an’ scream! An’ 
I not a know how to stop him. So I gather him 
up and bring him home to Louee, and Father 
Gregory and you.” 

“ Couldn’t you find a doctor, Mary? ” asked 
Louie. 


The Closed Road 


111 


“ Yes, a nica doc on the train gave him some 
medicine, and he go to sleep, an’ sleep all time 
since.” Again Mary lowered her face into her 
hands and wept distractedly. 

“ That was right.’’ Dr Franklin rose. “ Her 
pulse is fairly strong. I think she will be all 
right. We’ll hope so. Now, Mrs. Barbano,” he 
said kindly; “ you had better lie down and rest 
and try to sleep.” 

“ I can’t a sleep,” sobbed Mary pitiably. 

“ Try.” From his medicine case he took a 
small vial and poured from it into a glass of water. 

“ Let me have it.” Louie took it from the 
physician’s hand, and leaning over his wife, he 
said, “ Come to your room, Mary.” 

“I — I can’t a leave Louise.” 

“ The nurse will be here in a few minutes. I 
just talked with her. She is staying here in Ash- 
fork. Come.” 

Assisting her to her feet, he led her out into an 
adjoining bedroom, where he induced her to lie 
down. 

“ And Louee,” she began sobbing again. “ All 
my nica close —” 

“ Where are they? ” He sat down beside 
her. 

“ I nota know. I nev’ bin think of them. I 
guess they in New York. All my satin dresses 
an’ my beaded slippers! Oh, Louee, ain’t it 
awful? ” 

“ Your diamonds too? ” 

“ No. I bin keep my diamonds. But all my 


112 


The Closed Road 


silk stockings —” She buried her face in the 
pillow. 

“ Well, never mind/’ he said in a soothing tone, 
though his face was weary; “ drink this. HI find 
your things for you, if not, you can get others.” 

“ Oh— h— Louee! ” 

He stopped her avalance of gratitude by holding 
out the glass. She took it, drank the sedative and 
lay down. In a few minutes she slept, and Louie 
went back into the sick room where a fresh-faced, 
immaculate young nurse had taken charge in his 
absence. 

She looked up and smiled cheerfully as he 
entered. Dr. Franklin still sat at the bedside. 

Louie paused beside him. “ What is your real 
opinion? ” He asked directly. 

The physician’s face was very grave as he 
answered. 

“ I can’t say precisely. She has had, as I said, 
a very severe nervous shock, and it depends en¬ 
tirely how her system reacts. There is nothing to 
go by in these cases. They are entirely individual. 
We’ll just have to wait.” 

Louie’s face grew harassed and bitter, his mouth 
drawing into hard lines as he listened. 

“ Spare no pains or expense, Dr. Franklin, to 
save her. You understand that. If she recovers 
it will.be worth anything you care to ask of me —” 
He included the nurse in his glance, and went out 
closing the door after him. 

For forty-eight hours they waited while the 
child lay unconscious. Mary cried nearly all the 


The Closed Road 


113 


time, and Louie avoided the room when she was 
there. Yet often when she was out of the room, 
he came and tapped at the door. 

“ May I come in, Miss Scot? ” 

The pretty, violet eyed nurse rose and opened 
the door to him. 

His grave, unsmiling face lit slightly as he 
stepped in. “ May I sit here a while? How is 
she? ” 

Miss Scot indicated a chair, and busied herself 
about the bed. She was not quite at ease with 
this handsome, distinguished looking man whose 
face was so harassed and tired. 

“ Somewhat better, I am sure. I think she will 
waken soon. She shows signs of becoming rest¬ 
less.” 

Even as she spoke, the child stirred and with a 
faint sigh, opened her eyes, closing them instantly. 

Louie took the thin little hand in his and held 
the long fingers so like his own in his warm clasp. 

“ Louise / 7 he said softly, bending over her; 
“ Louise.” 

Her big eyes opened wide with an expression of 
terror, which faded as she saw his face. Her 
hand crept into his and she lay there motionless. 

“ That is good,” said Miss Scot happily. 
“ Here, dear.” 

Louise opened her lips for the stimulant the 
nurse offered, and drank it. 

“ How happy her mother will be! Where is 
she? She had me promise to tell her as soon as 
Louise awoke.” 


114 


The Closed Road 


A shade crossed his face. “ Mrs. Barbano is 
asleep,” he said. “It is better not to waken her 
just yet.” 

The door opened and Mary came in. She wore 
the same black satin dress now crumpled and 
soiled, her eyes were red and swollen from crying, 
her face pallid from anxiety. 

Louie rose instantly. “ She is better, Mary,” 
he said. “ She has just waked.” 

With a loud cry Mary threw herself on the floor 
and stretched her arms across the child’s body. 

“ Be very quiet, Mrs. Barbano,” warned the 
nurse. 

“ Oh, my lil’ gel! My pore lil’ gel — he have 
come back to he own momma,” she sobbed. 

“ Take care, Mary —” Louie spoke too late. 
The child eyes dilated with terror, she began to 
cower from her mother’s touch and scream shrilly. 

The nurse sprang forward. 

“ Hush, hush, liP gel! ” soothed Mary; but 
Louise only screamed in greater fright, beating 
incontinently with her little hands, which Mary 
tried to hold still. 

“ Take your wife out,” said the nurse authori¬ 
tatively, and Louie half led, half carried Mary 
from the room. She clung to him crying loudly. 

“ What for should he cry at me, Louee? ” 

“ I don’t know, Mary,” he answered wearily; 
“ Perhaps you frightened her.” 

“ But why should he be fright of mef ” wailed 
Mary woe-begonely, rolling the whites of her 
eyes. 


The Closed Road 


115 


u I don’t know/’ he said again as one unable 
to cope with the situation. “ But don’t worry ” 
(for Mary collapsed into a chair and wept un¬ 
controllably). “ I don’t suppose it was you. 
She wasn’t fully awake yet. She will be all 
right tomorrow. You had better go and he 
down.” 

“ But I just got up/’ Mary objected forlornly. 

“ Then go outside and get some fresh air/’ 
suggested Louie. “ Or better still, go and see 
Father Gregory and have a good talk with him.” 

Mary’s tear-stained face brightened. “ Will 
you come wit’ me? ” 

He hesitated. “ I’ll come and get you later,” 
he promised. 

Mary got up quite happily. “ I believe I would 
lika to go an’ see th’ Father.” She powdered her 
nose and put on her monstrous black hat. “ Won’t 
you a come too, Louee? ” 

“ Oh, I can’t,” he said hurriedly; “ I really 
can’t. I — you know Dr. Franklin is coming 
this afternoon.” 

“ Oh — that is so —” Mary looked blank and 
took off her hat. “ Then I cannot a go either. I 
forgot about the doc.” 

“ No, no, Mary —” Louie stopped to clear his 
voice of the irritation that was fast overcoming 
him. “ It isn’t necessary for you to stay. The 
nurse is here. You need the change. Remember 
you aren’t well, and you must not break down.” 

Hardly conscious of his act, he picked up the 
big hat and set it crookedly on her head. “ Go 


116 


The Closed Road 


on/’ he said; “ I’ll come and get you later this 
evening.” 

When the door at last closed behind her, he 
shook his head like an overstrung horse, and went 
back into the sick room. 

Louie’s soothing prophecy did not come true. 
Louise did not get over the strange antipathy she 
had conceived toward her mother. The minute 
Mary came to the bedside, she began to shiver 
and scream. 

Mary was urged, advised and warned to keep 
out of the room, but she would pop in and set the 
child into a delirium of terror. Both Dr. Franklin 
and Miss Scot finally kindly but firmly forbade 
her to come in. 

“ But why? ” protested Mary, “ should he be 
fright of he own momma? ” 

“ We do not know,” said Dr. Franklin gravely, 
“ but it happens that way sometimes. It is 
merely the phantasy of a sick brain. It will not 
last —” 

“ But why fright of mef ” persisted Mary mop¬ 
ping her inflamed eyes. “ He ain’t fright of 
Louee. ” 

He shook his silvery white head. “ It is strange, 
but it is possible she may associate you with the 
first cause of her fright. I can’t tell. Only, you 
understand, Mrs. Barbano, we must humor her 
that she may get well the quicker.” 

“ It ain’t a fair! ” Mary went weeping to her 
own room. “ She ain’t afraid of Louee.” 


CHAPTER X 


To Louie the days passed as to a man in prison. 
Mary’s wounded feelings became a breeding place 
for a violent dislike toward the nurse, and toward 
himself. Her jealous anger harried him in private, 
and humiliated him in public, and he had it to 
combat daily with all the tact and patience at his 
command. 

Louise regained her strength slowly, and the 
time hung heavily on her mother’s hands. And 
this too, was a part of Louie’s duties, to keep Mary 
placated while she was banished from the sick room. 

One evening as he read his paper comfortably 
in their sitting room, before dinner, Mary came in 
much excited, wearing a blaze of diamonds. 

“ Louee, it is about th’ supper time — I mean 
th’ dinner. You’d a best go an’ dress up.” 

Louie glanced up from his paper, the harassed 
look deepening in his eyes. “ Do what? ” 

“ Take off them old a brown close, and put on 
your nica black ones.” 

Louie held out the sleeve of his well tailored 
brown suit. 

“ Nonsense, Mary. This is all right. Nobody 
dresses formally here. There are too many 
tourists to care for much dressing.” 


118 


The Closed Road 


“ They’re agoin’ to tonight,” said Mary nodding 
emphatically; “ a cause there’s goin’ to be some 
big bugs cornin’.” 

“ You mean the Governor’s party? There’s no 
use dressing for them. They’re probably motor¬ 
ing through and all wearing khakies or corduroys.” 

“ They ain’t a cornin’ on motors. They’re 
cornin’ on the train,” persisted Mary; “ and all 
the ladies is a dressin’ up, and maka their men 
dress up. Now don’t a get one of your spells, 
Louee.” 

Louie laid down his paper leisurely, and asked 
mildly: 

“ You’re not going to wear all those diamonds, 
are you? ” 

“ Yes, I am,” announced Mary flatly. 

“ I wouldn’t,” he objected pleasantly. 

“ A why not? What’s th’ use to have th’ 
diamond, if I can’t a wear ’em? ” 

“ Well, it isn’t necessary to wear so many. 
It’s hardly good taste in a place like this.” 

“ Oh, th’ ‘ good taste ’! the ‘ good taste ’! ” 
said Mary irritably. “ Louee, you all times talk 
about th’ ‘ good taste ’! I don’t a see how you 
can think ever’thing in the world is somethin’ to 
eat! I have to wear th’ diamond ’cause I ain’t 
got no other dress up close. I wish them slow 
people in New York would find a my close. Now, 
go ’long, ’cause it’s ’bout the time.” 

“ Why not have dinner sent up here tonight? ” 
suggested Louie pleasantly. 

“ What for? What for you want to eat up here 


The Closed Road 


119 


all alone? ” demanded Mary crossly. “ I nev’ 
saw such mans! All times I stick in this old room. 
You won’t even let me go in a see Louise. I 
gotta do somethings.” Mary began to weep 
noisily. 

Louie got up. “ All right, Mary. Don’t cry. 
I’ll be ready in a minute.” 

Louie had good reason for preferring seclusion. 
Used to the privacy of the Ranch house, his wife’s 
table manners were similar to those of Wallipai 
Jane’s, but thinly veiled by the conventions of 
civilization. These experiences tried him to the 
utmost; but since they were only a part of the 
daily trial, he whistled softly as he changed his 
clothes. 

The big dining room was crowded when Louie 
ushered in his emblazoned wife. Mary stepped in 
smiling, conscious that her necklace, her brooch, 
her bracelet and comb were attracting some 
attention. 

“ Where is them, the Governors? Is that 
them? ” she whispered, indicating with a diamond 
clad finger. 

Louie nodded, his gaze on her finger. 

Suddenly conscious of former instruction, Mary 
lowered her hand hastily. “ They ain’t a dress 
very nice,” she said disappointedly. “ I don’t see 
many diamonds. Oh, look, Louee! They’s a 
man an’ th’ lady at our table! Do you know 
those? ” 

Louie’s face clouded. At least they formerly 
had had a separate table. “ Yes,” he answered; 


120 


The Closed Road 


. “ It’s Lane and his wife. The couple who are on 
their wedding tour. I told you of them.” 

“ She dress awful dowdy for a bride,” objected 
Mary; “ just th’ tailor suit. An’ that gray color 
ain’t what I like — too dingy.” 

“ Don’t talk so loud,” Louie cautioned as they 
approached the table. He introduced his wife, 
flinching inwardly at Mrs. Lane’s quiet appraisal 
of Mary under her smile. He drew out her chair, 
sat down and signaled to the waiter. 

Mary leaned toward her pleasant faced neigh¬ 
bor. “ Them Governors ain’t got much for close, 
has they, Mrs. Lane? I can’t see they got on 
th’ single —” 

Louie touched her arm. “ Here’s Francis, 
Mary.” 

Mary turned. “ Well, I bin feel kinda hungry 
tonight,” she said to polite Francis. “ What a 
you got? An’ hurry, ’cause I gotta git back to 
my lil’ gel.” 

Young Lane spoke to Louie. “ Well, we’re 
starting in the morning for our trip. We’re going 
clear on out through the Navajo country.” 

“ You must expect to be gone some time? ” 

He lost Lane’s answer for Mary’s voice gripped 
his attention. 

“ I see you got one diamond, Mrs. Lane —” 

His face flushed hotly, as an involuntary glance 
in his wife’s direction disclosed the sight of her 
cleaning her finger nails with a long pin, the better 
to display her rings. 

Hejesolutely b closed his ears. “ It’s a wonderful 


The Closed Road 


121 


country. You start from Flagstaff and go out 
this way to reach —” 

“ Louee,” challenged Mary’s voice; “ How 
much did this diamond cost? ” 

He affected not to hear, continuing his diagram 
on the table. 

“Louee!” Mary poked him with the finger 
wearing the diamond in question. “ How much —” 
“ Pardon me, Mary.” He turned suavely. 
“ I don’t know — I’ve forgotten. As I said,” he 
went on to young Lane, — “ to reach the heart of 
the Navajo country—” 

“ They are one of the most intelligent tribes, 
aren’t they? ” asked Mr. Lane. 

‘‘ Louee! ’ ’ insisted Mary; “ You must a know —’ ’ 
Ignoring her, he nodded to Lane. “ The Nava- 
jos are midway between the aristocrats, the Ho- 
pies, and the lowest tribe — the Wallipais.” 

“ I don’t a see why you can’t answer me,” said 
Mary peevishly. “ No use to act like that.” She 
applied herself sulkily to her roast beef. 

The Lanes finished their dessert and were just 
leaving the table when Miss Scot came into the 
room and approached. 

Mary looked up and saw her. Her face flushed 
angrily, and her high voice cut across the low 
murmur of conversation, turning every head in 
her direction. 

“ Go back up stairs and stay wit’ my lil’ gel! 
What you bin do down here? You lazy ting! ” 
The nurse started and looked at her with 
stunned amazement. 


122 


The Closed Road 


“ Mary! ” Louie was on his feet. His hand on 
his wife’s arm, silenced her. 

“ What is it, Miss Scot? ” he asked with sharp 
edged courtesy, his face livid, “ Is there something 
you wish? ” 

She turned toward him trembling violently. 
“ Just a glass of milk for Louise, thank you. The 
waiter will get it.” 

He signaled Francis. “ A glass of milk for Miss 
Scot,” he ordered. “ What else? ” 

“ Nothing. Thank you.” 

Mary began to sob vehemently. He raised her 
to her feet and hurried her out of the dining room, 
into the elevator, and returned. 

He met the nurse coming out, the glass of milk 
in her hand, her lips pressed together in a straight 
line. 

He stopped her with an arrogant gesture, his 
face still deathly white, his eyes gleaming. 

“ I can’t offer you any apology,” he said. 
“ You understand — don’t you? My — Mrs. Bar- 
bano is not well — is beside herself with anxiety — 
is — My God, Miss Scot ’ ’ — He paused helpless, 
for the girl did not say anything. She stood fac¬ 
ing him, her lips quivering. 

“ I can’t tell you how I regret it! Overlook it, 
can’t you? For the sake of Louise. You are 
bringing the child out all right. What can I do 
to make amends to you? ” 

The nurse’s dark violet eyes flashed. She 
steadied her lips and found her tongue. “ Keep 
your wife out of my way, and don’t let her come in 


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123 


contact with me again, ” she said crisply. “ I 
won’t leave you. I promised Dr. Franklin I 
would stay with the case. I understand —” 
The awe she had felt of him at their first meeting 
returned. “ I realize how you feel — and — ap¬ 
preciate it.” She went past him on up the stair, 
her lips still compressed. 

His brain still whirling with fury, he strode on 
outside, down the street to the stable where Berold 
stamped and snorted in his stall. 

Jose lounged forward with a not too choice jest, 
then stared at him, at his bare head and his black 
dinner coat. 

Louie threw the garment off, bartered with Jose 
for sweater and chaps, roughly cinched the big 
saddle on Berold’s shining back, and forced him 
to his knees while he bridled him, unmindful in his 
white hot anger that the stallion reared and 
fought until the noise of his savage protest drove 
Jose out into the street. 

Buckling on his heavy spurs, he leaped on to the 
plunging horse and they disappeared in a cloud of 
dust. 

The night was just deepening. The red and 
dun afterglow showed dully through the dusky 
twilight, and in the blue spaces between the 
clouds, the stars were coming out. The night wind 
pressed cool and steady against his hot face, 
blowing back the dark locks of his uncovered hair, 
as the beat of the stallion’s galloping hoofs thun¬ 
dered down the road. 

He took his own path. Louie had no choice, 


124 


The Closed Road 


his only desire was to put the distance between 
himself and the woman who was called his wife, 
and the humiliation she had brought on him. If 
he thought of a hard little palm and serene gray 
eyes at the end of the road, he did not acknowledge 
it to himself, but with his mind seething with 
stormy thoughts he watched the long, white road 
like an unrolled tape gathered up and flung behind 
him by Berold’s flying feet. 

An hour passed, two hours, and still the great 
horse galloped with regular strides like the swinging 
of a pendulum, until Louie drew rein, and stopped 
at the edge of the mesa, and looked down on the 
group of cottonwood trees, dark and silent with no 
hint of life under their shadows. 

He sat there a long time under the hush of the 
unseeing stars, at the edge of the great, pulseless 
mesa looking down into the quiet basin where 
Crevola slept like a white poppy out of the glare 
of the sun. At last, unaccountably soothed, he 
turned the stallion, and gathered up again the 
long tape of the white road. 

When Louise was able to be up and dressed, 
her chief pleasure was to lie quietly back in her 
father’s arms by the window and watch what 
went on outside. Louie enjoyed it also, and 
would sit for hours holding her until she grew 
tired and wanted to go back to bed. 

Mary suffered much on these occasions, for the 
child still refused to go to her, so Louie did his 


The Closed Road 


125 


utmost to dispel the phantasy of fear that held 
Louise afraid of her mother. 

One morning, Louise in a bright kimono lay 
huddled close in the bend of Louie’s arm, her 
white cheek close to his. The muslin curtain 
billowed in on the wind, and catching on the tips 
of her slippered toes made her laugh faintly. 

“ Come here, Mary,” called Louie. “ She 
seems so much better this morning I am sure she 
will know you now. See, Louise, here is Mother. 
You haven’t seen her for a long time.” 

Mary approached eagerly. Louise’s wide eyes 
stared at her, and her face began to pucker. 

Louie kept talking in a soothing tone. “ Come 
closer, Mary — very quietly. Give her time. 
See, Louise. It’s Mother! ” 

Mary held out her hands. “ Come, lil’ gel,” 
she coaxed; but Louise began to shiver and buried 
her face in Louie’s shoulder. 

“ I’m your momma.” The big tears started 
down Mary’s cheeks. 

“ Wait, Mary.” Louie held the child closely. 
“ Don’t force her. We’ll try it again after a 
while. I’m sorry, Mary,” he said regretfully as 
Mary went away sobbing. “ I’m sure she will be 
all right tomorrow.” 

He tried it the next day and the next with the 
greatest patience until at last one morning as Mary 
knelt on the floor beside them, the child put out 
her hand and touched her face. 

“ Mama! ” she said. 


126 


The Closed Road 


“ Oh, Louee! ” sobbed Mary thankfully; “ she 
ain’t bin ’fraid of me no more.” 

“ Take her, Mary.” He got up, placed her in 
the chair and gave the child into her arms. “ Be 
quiet with her for a little, at first.” He watched 
them. Mary beamed happily, her sallow face 
wreathed in smiles, and Louise lay looking up at 
her with questioning eyes. 

“ Now we can send that smart Miss Scot 
away,” said Mary decisively. “ She bin here too 
long anyhow.” Rocking back and forth, she 
crooned happily. “ Oh, lil’ gel. You love your 
mother best.” 

Louie turned and went out of the room. 

Mary made haste to dismiss the nurse and in¬ 
stall herself in her place. And for fear that Louie 
might again supplant her in Louise’s affections, 
she allowed him to do nothing for the child. If 
he came into the room, she made an excuse to get 
him out. If he spoke to Louise she interposed to 
divert the child’s attention to herself. She began 
to replan her trip to Portugal as the surest method 
of weaning Louise away from Louie. Sitting by 
the window with the child in her broad lap, she 
told her all about the beautiful trip they would 
take to see Cousin Marianna. 

“ But I like papa. I stay wiv papa,” said 
Louise sitting upright, her big eyes watching the 
door. 

“ No, no,” objected Mary. “ You can’t do that, 
lil’ gel. You stay wit’ momma. Momma loves 
you; but poppa would go off and leave you for a 


The Closed Road 


127 


th’ wild coyotes to git you. Do you a want the 
coyotes to a carry you off? Poppas don't care for 
liF gels. They let th' bug-a-boos git 'em." 

When Father Gregory came she seated the bent 
old man, in his long black priest's skirts, in a low 
chair, and told him all about Louise's alarming 
illness. 

“ An' wile she sick," she concluded in an injured 
tone, “ Louee would not a let me go to see her. 
And he made her so scare of me, she all times cry. 
Oh, Louee try his bes’ to git my lil' gel away from 
me." 

“I am sure you are mistaken in that idea, my 
daughter," said the Father austerely. 

“ Oh, but you ain’t know Louee. You ain’t 
know how mean he can be. Like I do, Father 
Gregory," she insisted, pushing back Louise's 
black curls; “ You ain't nev' been his wife." 

The Father sat with his thin hands clasped in 
his lap. “ Are you still expecting to go to Portu¬ 
gal? " he asked. 

“ Oh, yes," said Mary quickly; “ I promise 
Louise I taka her, and I need to a go." She drew 
a doleful face. “ I bin sick. I have such a the 
terrible pain here." Mary laid her hand on an 
indeterminate spot in her middle regions. “ And 
wile we bin there if Louise forgit all 'bout Louee, 
I cannot a help it." 

“ Mary, my daughter," began the priest; but 
the door opened and Louie came in cool and smil¬ 
ing in white duck, with a rose in his buttonhole. 

“ Dear me, Louee. You look a mighty fine. 


128 


The Closed Road 


All decked up wit’ th’ flower/’ began Mary; but 
the child sat up suddenly and cried: 

“Papa!” 

He came forward eagerly to the child and took 
an orange from his pocket. 

“ Now, don’t you be a stuffin’ him wit’ all kin’ 
tings, Louee,” objected Mary. Putting the orange 
away she gathered Louise up. “It bin time for 
her to go back to bed. Come, momma’s lil’ gel! ” 

“ Don’t rush off with her, Mary,” protested 
Louie sitting down opposite the Father. 

Louise began to cry weakly for the orange. 

“ Now you a see what you done, Louee! All 
times try to make him cry. How I ever goin’ to 
make him git well? ” 

Louie gave the Father an exasperated look as 
Mary tramped heavily out with the child who 
whimpered plaintively. 

“ Patience, my son, patience! ” cautioned the 
priest lifting up his palm. “ Perhaps she is, as she 
says, not well.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Louie grimly, flinging himself 
back in his chair. “ And perhaps some men could 
live with her without wanting to kill her; but I 
can’t! ” 

Two days later Louie, dressed in his riding 
clothes, came into his wife’s apartment, and found 
her in a soiled pink kimono with her bushy black 
hair in a tousled braid, giving Louise her breakfast 
in bed. 

Though it was eleven o’clock, she had the 
windows shut, the curtains drawn and the electric 


The Closed Road 


129 


lights turned on. Into this vitiated atmosphere 
Louie brought the fresh breath of the outdoors. 

“ Hurry up and shut the door, Louee,” Mary 
greeted him querulously. “ An’ take care and 
don’t a scare Louise wit’ noise.” 

Louie left the door open. “ What’s the matter? 
Don’t you know it’s day time? Why have you got 
everything shut up? The air in here is close as a 
dungeon. It’s stifling! Let’s have some fresh 
air.” 

Laying his hat on a chair, he ran up the shades 
and opened the windows. The sunshine and the 
cool, scented air poured into the room, dimming 
the electric bulbs and showing up Louise’s pale 
face. 

Mary got up crossly. “Now a Louee — you 
just stop! What for you want a come and open 
all th’ windows? Louise don’t like it. The sun 
is so bright, she can’t a sleep.” 

“ She ought not to sleep this time of day, Mary. 
She ought to be out in the fresh air.” 

“ A ‘ fresh air! fresh air! ’ You must be crazy, 
Louee. Just a let the windows a lone.” She 
pulled them down and drew the curtains close. 
“ All times think and talk of fresh air! Poppa 
must be crazy, ain’t he, lil’ gel? ” 

Louise lay back propped up on the pillow, and 
stared at Louie with wide, unwinking eyes. 

“ I can’t see, Louee,” went on Mary resuming 
her seat: “You ain’t nev’ in your life done 
nothings for Louise, and now you want to come all 
times and boss me ’round everythings I try to do 


130 


The Closed Road 


for her. I guess she as much my gell as yours. 
And I’ve done every things for her always/’ 

“ I beg your pardon, Mary,” he said courteously. 
“ I only thought it seemed close in here after com¬ 
ing in from the outside.” 

“ Nobody can live on th’ fresh air, Louee. I 
don’t think Louise is crazy ’bout it,” said Mary 
leaning over the bed. “ Poppa goin’ crazy, 
ain’t he, HI’ gel? Huh? Say, liT gel — ain’t he 
goin’ crazy? ” 

“ Papa —” said Louise sleepily, closing her eyes. 

“ Now you see, Louee! She tired of it too,” 
said Mary triumphantly. 

“ Very well, Mary.” Louie picked up his hat. 
“ We won’t quarrel over it.” 

“ Quarrel? Who wants a to quarrel? ” con¬ 
tinued Mary peevishly. “ You must a be th’ one 
that want to quarrel — all times growl at what 
I do.” 

“ I came in, Mary,” said Louie in an even voice, 
holding his folded hands behind him, “ to tell you 
that I had a letter from Clark this morning —” 

“ Did a letter come for me? ” interrupted Mary. 

“ No. And Clark wants to see me on some 
business at the ranch. I’m just going out, and 
came in to see if you wanted anything before I 
go.” 

“ When you come back? ” 

“ Two or three days probably, if everything 
goes all right. I’ve made arrangements with the 
management here in case you want or need any- 



The Closed Road 


131 


thing. Tell Cressler, that’s his business, and he’ll 
send word to me if you wish.” 

“ I expect Mr. Cressler got all jobs he want to 
run this hotel,” objected Mary. 

“ Maybe,” conceded Louie; “ but nevertheless 
he can be depended on. Is there anything I can 
do before I go? ” 

“ I want a th’ money,” said Mary tentatively. 

He reached for his check book. “ How much? ” 

Watching his face to see the effect of her words, 
Mary named a considerable sum. 

Slight surprise dawned on his face and she made 
haste to say: 

“ It cost a lot to stay at place lika this, Louee.” 

“ I certainly don’t expect you to pay the ex¬ 
penses here, Mary. Don’t bother your head 
about that.” He wrote a check for the required 
amount. “ I think,” he said, “ You had better 
let me put this in the bank and get exchanges on 
it. It isn’t always safe to carry so much money 
when traveling.” 

“ Well, Louise, do you hear that? ” commented 
Mary turning toward the bed. “ Your poppa is 
gittin’ to be th’ tightwad.” 

With his exasperation illy concealed, Louie got 
up leaving the check on the table. He leaned 
over the bed and touched the child’s hand. 
“ Good-bye, Pigeon.” 

Mary bustled up to the bedside, having secured 
her check. “ Now don’t be a wakin’ him up, 
Louee.” 

Bending, he touched his lips to the forehead of 


132 


The Closed Road 


the sleeping child and went out. Outside the 
door, he said bitterly aloud: 

“ Patience, Father Gregory! Good God! ” 

When the door closed behind him, and his voice 
in greeting to someone on the pave below assured 
Mary that he was gone, she rang for the removal 
of the breakfast tray and went into her own 
room to dress. She twisted up her thick black 
hair, put on her high heeled pumps with the 
rhinestone buckles, a bright blue satin dress, 
diamond bracelets and brooch and a large black 
hat, and surveyed herself with satisfaction in the 
plate-glass mirror. She took up her beaded bag, 
inserted Louie’s check, and made her way down 
stairs and over the diagonal board walk leading 
from the hotel. She stopped at the post-office 
and asked: “ Is there bin any letters for Mrs. 
Barbano? ” 

The lean, tanned youth who lounged inside, 
removed his wilted slouch hat, shook his head and 
said, “ Nope. Louie got the mail this morning 
and the other train’s late.” 

“ But you a look,” insisted Mary. “ Maybe 
you maka th’ mistake.” 

Heaving himself to his feet with an effort, the 
boy ran through a bunch of unclaimed letters. He 
replaced them in the pigeon hole, “ Nope, nothin’,” 
he said and collapsed again into his chair. 

“ I can’t a see why,” said Mary with troubled 
face. “ If anything come, send it to this ad¬ 
dress.” Mary searched in her bag and produced a 
card with an address. 


The Closed Road 


133 


He took it. “ Yep. All right.” 

Mary retraced her steps to the hotel with a 
clouded brow. Before the door of the curio room 
Jim Meredith lounged with his hands in the pock¬ 
ets of his bib overalls. Always on the scent, the 
Sheriff stood with head thrust forward from his 
stooping shoulders, his long, thin nose uptilted 
slightly like a sniffing hound’s, and nothing es¬ 
caped his keen eyes peering out from between his 
half closed lids. 

Catching sight of Mary, he rolled off his wide 
hat with the deference due a lady, and grasped 
her hand in his paralyzing grip. 

“ How do you do, Mrs. Barbano? I haven’t 
seen you for a stretch of time,” he said heartily. 
“ How are you? ” 

“ I ain’t well at all, Mr. Meredith,” answered 
Mary dolefully, indicating her stiffly corseted 
middle; “ I have a th’ terrible pains here all 
times.” 

“Pshaw! That’s bad. And how’s the little 
girl? ” 

“ He bin quite a bit better, this morning.” 

“ That’s good. I saw Louie, and he seemed to 
think she wasn’t so well.” 

“Oh — Louee! He nev’ bin know nothings 
about her. Now he go away and leave me to 
take care of her,” complained Mary. “ But I 
know one thing — Louee bin goin’ to get surprise 
party when he come back.” 

“ Yes? ” said the Sheriff scenting a trail. His 
eyes shut a trifle closer and he fixed Mary’s face. 



134 


The Closed Road 


“ He bin goin’ to find me gone/’ she promised 
with a toss of her black hat; “ started to Portugal 
to see Cousin Marianna.” 

He nodded pleasantly. “ Off again, are you? 
Well, that’s fine! Hope you’ll have a nice trip. 
Louie know you’re goin’? ” 

“ Oh, yes, he bin say I could go. Two weeks 
ago I start —” 

“ Well, that’s pretty good of the old scout,” the 
Sheriff cut in on her explanations; “ ’Tain’t every 
man gives his wife a pocketful of money and sends 
her off while he stays home and razees long-horns 
and eats squaw’s cookin’.” 

“ ’Tain’t all mens got a th’ wife like me,” 
bridled Mary. 

The Sheriff’s keen eyes twinkled like bright 
beads, his overalls bib vibrated silently. He 
grinned broadly at Mary. 

“You’ve said it, Mrs. Barbano! You’ve said 
what everybody knows.” 

“ All times I stay home wile he run around.” 

“ That’s so. That’s right. Well,” the Sheriff 
saw a chance of escape. “ I hope you get to stay 
long enough so Louie will know what he’s missin’. 
Don’t hurry back. Let him git along. It’ll do 
him good.” He rolled off his hat again and slid 
into the bar-room. 

With a smile of satisfaction on her sallow face, 
Mary went upstairs and did her packing. “ Louee 
will be so mad! ” she said to herself as she strapped 
her suitcase; “when he come back and a find 


The Closed Road 


135 


me gone. It is th’ good luck for me, he find a my 
close for me.” 

Mary was neither clever nor far seeing in this 
move of hers. Louise’s preference for Louie 
rankled and she had but one idea, to annoy and 
hurt him for payment. She got Louise out of bed 
early next day and took the mid morning train 
for New York. 

Three days later Louie breezed into Ashfork, 
left Berold to Jose’s hospitality, and went up to 
the hotel. Although he had spent the most of 
the three days in the saddle, he looked fresh and 
unwearied, and very well pleased with himself, 
as he tapped on the door of his wife’s apartment 
and waited for her welcoming voice. 

Instead a light step sounded inside and the 
door opened to the view of a good looking blonde 
in a pongee sport suit. 

“ Another nurse? ” thought Louie as he met her 
inquiring hazel eyes; but he said, “ Is Mrs. Bar- 
bano here? ” 

“ Mrs. Barbano? ” She shook her blonde head. 
“ No. This is Mrs. Drake’s apartment.” 

“ Isn’t Mrs. Barbano here? ” 

“ No. I don’t know the name. My mother 
and I came in this morning.” 

Louie retreated with a baffled face. “ I beg 
your pardon. Possibly I have made a mistake in 
the number.” He went down stairs to the office. 

“ Where in the devil’s my wife, Cressler? ” 

The manager lowered his paper and peered 
around it through his horn-rimmed glasses. “ Oh, 


136 


The Closed Road 


Mr. Barbano.” He got up 'and came forward. 
“ Back so soon? Mrs. Barbano gave up her 
apartment yesterday morning and left on Four¬ 
teen. I understood from her you were gone for 
a couple of months. She left a letter to be de¬ 
livered when you came. I’ll get it.” He un¬ 
locked his safe and taking out the envelope, 
handed it to Louie. 

Frowning, Louie took it. It said: 

“ I bin gone, Louee. Louise feel a lot better so 
I thought we as well git start. I couldn’t find one 
of her pink slippers. I told the chambermaid. 
If she find it, will you send it on to Cousin Maria 
anna’s? Well, no more for this time, Your loving- 
wife Mary. 

“ P. S. I didn’t pay the bill. I guess it bin a 
big one.” 


CHAPTER XI 


Louie’s hot anger toward his wife cooled rapidly 
under the contempt he felt for her, and the relief 
that her going gave him. He was free, free as he 
ever would be while she lived, free to mount 
Berold and ride away across the mesa to the very 
rim, free to seek and find his welcome in a quiet, 
rose scented garden. 

Yet he waited until Mary’s telegram told him 
she was just embarking for Portugal, and Louise 
was able to run all about on the big liner. Even 
then he did not hurry, and Berold chafed impa¬ 
tiently at the restraining hand on his bridle. 

The sun dipped low in the west when he stopped 
under the plum tree, and as he tethered the stal¬ 
lion, he heard the slam of the screen door. 

He looked toward the house to see Crevola 
coming swiftly over the flags, her white garments 
blowing, the tendrils of her hair dancing. She 
reminded him of Botticelli’s “ Spring ” he had 
seen in the Louvre. 

He met her at the gate, where she gave him both 
her hands, smiling happily, free from coquetry. 
“ I thought you would never come! ” 

“So it seemed to me,” said Louie taking her 
hands in a friendly clasp. 


138 


The Closed Road 


11 1 wanted so much to see you to thank you for 
everything. The wonderful music especially. 
What made you think I should like that? ” 

“ I made a guess because you are a harmony, 
yourself.” 

“ I never dreamed there could be such heavenly 
sounds in the world,” she said seriously. “ And 
such voices! Are there really people who sing like 
that? I did not know how to use it at first, but 
Kate showed me. She said they had one at the 
Indian school. I must thank you for her, too. 
She is a remarkable person.” 

“ How does she do? Is she quite satisfactory? ” 
“ She is the best thing in the world,” Crevola 
answered earnestly. “ So good to me, and the 
most tireless worker. She wants to do everything. 
For the first time since Aunt Rachel took sick, I 
have felt free. I stay out of doors a great deal of 
the time. You see, I’m getting quite tanned.” 
She looked up laughing, and rubbed her cheek 
with her palms. They were losing their indoor 
look and were getting rounder, and faintly rosy. 

“ A miracle is being wrought,” he said. 

“ A wonderfully pleasant one. I love these 
evenings. Shall we walk down to the cedar grove? 
Or perhaps you have ridden too far — are tired —” 
“ If I were, it would rest me.” He opened the 
gate, and she passed through. 

“ At first,” she continued as they walked on 
down the path, “ I didn’t know what to do for 
her, or how to make her feel at home. She acted 
so queer, so silent and sullen appearing, and gave 


The Closed Road 139 

me such strange glances as if she disliked me. It 
worried me she seemed so unhappy.” 

“ It is the Indian way,” he said quickly. “ They 
are always so.” 

“ But she seems different now. I tried so hard 
to make her comfortable. It must be dreadful to 
have no home. She is kind to Aunt Rachel, and 
Aunt likes to have her lift her, she is so strong.” 

“ That is good. It relieves you.” 

“ I am glad since Aunt is satisfied. It is easier 
for her. And, oh, I love the outdoors! ” She 
stretched out her slender arms and looked through 
the cedar aisles where the shadows gathered. 
“ Do you? ” She turned her tenderly glowing 
face toward him. “ Some day when you are here, 
will you go with me to the top of the mesa rim? 
I haven’t been there since I was a little girl. 
What is there? No, don’t tell me, I want to see 
it. But perhaps that would not interest you —” 

“ Anything that interests you is interesting to 
me,” said Louie, watching her face as one might 
watch the slow unfolding of a flower. “ We will 
go up there the next time I come.” 

“ I hope it won’t be long,” she said ingenuously. 
“ And since, as you said, your wife is gone, you 
will be lonely, so perhaps you will want to come 
soon.” 

Looking at him she found sufficient assurance 
in his face. 

“ I wanted to show you.” She pointed down 
through the dusky shadows to where a white 
stone gleamed in the twilight. “ It is where 


140 


The Closed Road 


Cousin Ralph is buried, Aunt and Uncle’s only 
child, a long time before I can remember. But 
they want to be buried there, too, and that is why 
we stay here.” 

“ It is a pleasant resting place,” he said. 

“ Isn’t it? With all the sweet scent of the 
woods, and the sun and shade. Perhaps I shall 
be buried here, too.” 

“ No, never! ” he said impetuously, his face 
flushing. She was capable of such pure joy, and 
she talked of graves! He wanted to gather her up 
on Berold and gallop away with her to light, and 
life, and happiness. “ You must not be thinking 
of graves; you are too young, and the world is 
full of pleasant things for youth.” 

“ It isn’t unpleasant to me,” she said simply. 
“ But shall we go back to the house? I think Kate 
must have supper ready. You will stay? Uncle 
will want to talk about Berold.” 

They went back to the house and Kate had the 
meal ready and on the table. But she did not 
appear until after supper when Uncle Joe, tired 
of talking horse, went to bed, and Crevola took 
Louie into the living room to listen to the music. 
Then Kate slunk into a corner by the weaving 
frame, and sat there silent with watchful eyes 
until Louie bade Crevola good night at the door. 


CHAPTER XII 


Crevola spent the next week with Kate's skillful 
assistance, and with the aid of the fashion maga¬ 
zines that Louie had sent, contriving herself some 
new clothes out of the beautiful, old-fashioned 
garments Aunt Rachel had laid away upstairs. 

When Louie came again, it was quite a modish 
young lady who greeted him in the lamp light, 
clad in heavily embroidered amber mull, with a 
yellow rose in her fashionably dressed hair. 

Surprise and admiration leaped into Louie's 
eyes as he caught her outstretched hands. 

“ Crevola! But this is not Crevola? " 

“Yes, it is. It is," she assured him earnestly, 
flushing brightly. “ Only I have a new dress, 
and my hair is different. Do you like me? " 

“ Like you! You are lovely. But why all this 
grand attire? Are you expecting some one? " 

“ No one, except you," she said naively. “ I've 
dressed up every evening for a week. I thought 
you would come sooner." 

“ It wasn’t my fault, you may be sure. And 
now I have but a minute to stay." 

“ Must you go? " She made no effort to con- 
. ceal her disappointment. 

“ I have no choice," he said regretfully; “lam 
with a party, but as we were so near here I couldn't 


142 


The Closed Road 


resist coming in to tell you I am coming Saturday, 
and I have a surprise for you. But I am glad 
that I did come tonight, for you are wonderful. 
Give me that rose from your hair. 5 ’ 

She disengaged it from its fluffy bed, eyeing it 
with disfavor. “ It isn’t at all pretty; it’s 
wilting.” 

He laid his hands on her shoulders. “It is 
beautiful! And so are you — too beautiful to 
endure here in the shadows. I must get you out 
in the sun.” His hands dropped, and taking the 
flower he put it carefully in his pocket. I’m off; 
but I’m coming Saturday. Good night.” 

She held on to his fingers. “ Wait. I want to 
ask you — Am I — tonight — in this dress — my 
hair like this — Do I look like the other girls you 
know — out — in the world? ” 

“ Somewhat.” His dark eyes smiled down ten¬ 
derly on her as his other hand closed over her 
clasping fingers. “ But you are much more beau¬ 
tiful than any I have seen.” 

“ Is that true? Oh! Have you seen many? ” 

“ Quite a few,” he said with a nod; “ and none 
of them could hold a candle to you.” 

“ Isn’t that pleasant? Thank you.” She gave 
him a slight push. “ Now go, if those men are 
waiting for you. I hope Saturday will come 
soon.” 

There was need for dispatch if Louie Barbano 
kept his appointment with Crevola as he had 
every intention of doing, and he spared neither 
Berold nor himself on the long trails that lay be- 


The Closed Road 


143 


tween the various points of his duty that finally 
led him back to his own ranch house. 

Here lonely peace brooded in the falling dusk 
that wrapped the courtyard and dimmed the gray 
outlines of the stone house. In the far end by the 
Indian village, a group of naked children played 
in the dust. 

He turned Berold in his paddock, and whistling 
lightly, he went to his house. 

Inside he found it kept habitable by a neat 
Indian woman, who, while he waited for his 
supper, brought him a sheaf of letters. 

On the top lay one from Mary. He ran through 
the others — a various assortment, among them 
several for Mary. He pushed them all aside and 
tore open her letter. It was brief, containing 
little except a detailed account of her physical ills. 
Not a word of Louise. He flung it down impa¬ 
tiently and went through the rest, bills, advertise¬ 
ments, and business communications, nothing of 
great interest to a man alone. 

Whistling a low, discontented tune, he took up 
Mary’s letters. There were three with the brown 
envelopes and Government frank of the Dead 
Letter Office, possibly her letters to him that had 
gone astray in his erratic journeying. He opened 
one. The inclosed letter, much marked and red 
stamped, was addressed to Mr. Manuel Ortego, 
at an obscure hotel in New York. The hand¬ 
writing was that of his wife. 

The whistle ceased. He tore open the others, 


144 


The Closed Road 


these two were also for Mr. Manuel Ortego, and 
had traveled from one cheap hotel to another. 

His heavy brows drew together. “ Who in the 
devil is Mr. Manuel Ortego? ” he said aloud. 
“ Somehow it sounds familiar —” Then, as if his 
wife really spoke he heard again: “ Such a th’ nice 
man! Mr. Manuel Ortego, who pull a th’ funny 
face that almost make me croak wit’ laugh! ” 

“ For God’s sake! Mary, of all women! ” 

His face grew dark and angry as he drew out the 
ill written sheets, dated during their stay in Ash- 
fork. In them Mary had poured out all the 
bitterness and jealous anger that lay unvoiced in 
her during those days of trial. Tales of Louie’s 
cruelty and lack of appreciation, mingled with 
symptoms of her own ill health predominated, 
and if she could but see “ dear Manuel ” and see 
him “ pull a th’ funny face ” and “ hold a th’ 
hands —” 

Louie read them all through to the end, the 
coarse and common bids for sympathy through 
deliberate falsehood — He laid them down. 

“ I certainly did not think her capable of this! ” 
He lay back in his chair and stared into the 
fireplace. Who was this Manuel Ortego? Had 
there been other letters? No. The first one said 
she was doubtful of the address, the others urged 
him to answer. Probably the flitting Manuel 
Ortego had not received any letters, since he had 
answered none. This was why Mary was always 
so anxious about her letters. Thank heaven, they 
had not reached their destination, and yet — He 


The Closed Road 


145 


got up and paced around the room,— wasn't 
Mary just as guilty as if they had? The overture 
was hers — His wife! The mother of his child! 
His face flushed hotly. 

Suddenly underneath his indignation the 
thought surged: didn't this free him? Father 
Gregory would certainly concede that — this 
plain, undeniable evidence of Mary’s intent. 
And yet what was her intent toward this gifted 
gentleman? Was she merely seeking sympathy, 
or more? Toward what did this holding of hands 
and pulling of funny faces portend? And could 
they be done simultaneously with success? 

He sat down in the chair again and laughed, 
until he heard Wallipai Sue's footstep at the door. 
His wife! He, Count Piero de Grassi! — and 
Manuel Ortego, whose especial virtue seemed the 
pulling of funny faces! 

He sobered. It was very amusing; but the end 
was nowhere in sight. Father Gregory believed 
in Mary; in her goodness, her kindness, her virtue, 
he was always recounting to him her loyalty and 
her faithfulness. What would he say now? 
Louie got up and gathered the letters together. 
“ Thank you, Mr. Manuel Ortego," he said 
politely, “ for the pleasant hours you have given 
my wife. We will visit Father Gregory tomorrow, 
and I hope you shall some day have the pleasure 
of continuing this romantic adventure." 

Wallipai Sue pounded on the door. “ Supper," 
she said. He turned toward the dining room, 
thrusting the letters in his pocket. As he did so 


146 


The Closed Road 


his hand touched something strange. He pulled 
it out. It was the little pink slipper the chamber¬ 
maid at Ashfork had given him, according to his 
wife’s instructions. 

It threw his mind into a definite revulsion of 
feeling. There was always Louise to be con¬ 
sidered. And too, Father Gregory was very old. 
It was hard for the old to be shocked. He smiled 
grimly. “ You’re safe, Mary.” Father Gregory 
must never see those letters, must never know. 
And what use to confront Mary with them? If 
he still must keep her nominally his wife, why 
disturb such harmony as was yet possible between 
them? At least unless other developments came 
up. Why indeed? 

He took the letters from his pocket, touched 
them with a lighted match and watched them curl 
to black cinders, remarking as he did so: 

“ Well, Mr. Manuel Ortego, I hold you no ill 
will, but I wish you had her. By George! I’ll bet 
you’d learn how to pull funnier faces than you can 
dream of now.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


On Saturday morning Crevola rose with the 
sun, a song on her lips. Today Louie was to 
come bringing a wonderful surprise — wonderful, 
of course, because everything he did was so unlike 
anything that had ever happened before, so differ¬ 
ent from anything she could imagine as happening. 

She thought she would see him the minute 
Berold swung over the mesa edge, but busy fan¬ 
ning Aunt Rachel, who was peevish and fretful 
with the heat, she did not know he had come until 
Kate looked into the bedroom and said sullenly, 

“ Louie Barbano is at gate. He want you.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t see him come! You fan Aunt 
Rachel, Kate. It’s so hot.” 

She eagerly pressed the fan into the Navajo’s 
hand, and with a flush on her face that matched her 
pink gingham apron, she ran down the walk look¬ 
ing like a wind swayed peach bloom. 

Louie was at the gate with Berold, and on the 
other side of him stamped a restive sorrel filly, 
wearing a smart saddle and bridle. 

Crevola stopped short with clasped hands. 

“ A horse! ” she cried; “ Oh, Louie! ” 

He opened the gate. “ Come out and see her 
and tell me if you like her.” 

“ Like her! I love her this minute. Will she 
be afraid? ” 


148 


The Closed Road 


Approaching slowly she held out her hand and 
the filly stretched a friendly nose to meet it, 
sniffed and nuzzled the fingers. 

Crevola slipped her arms up around the proudly 
arched neck. “ Oh, pretty thing! How gentle 
she is, Louie, and how satin shiny she is! ” 

“ Do you like her? She is yours for you to 
ride.” 

“ For me? To ride? Oh, oh, oh!” she cried 
softly, “ now we can go up on the mesa. Can’t 
we? ” 

“ I have planned we shall go tomorrow morning 
before sunrise.” 

She left the filly and came to him, her face glow¬ 
ing like a cactus bloom. She held out her hands 
to him. “ How good you are to think of things 
for me! I was thinking the other day and won¬ 
dering if ever another lonely girl like me had such 
a splendid friend as I have; one to change the long 
monotonous days to such a beautiful series of 
events.” 

He held her hands. “ Have I done that for 
you? ” 

“ All that, and more. You are showing me 
daily how much more wonderful real life is, than 
the imagined life I used to lead.” 

“ There is nothing better, Crevola, than living 
the fullness of life. And there are so many things 
to enjoy, it seems a pity for one like you to live a 
hermit. Life is going to have a great deal to say 
to you, because you have so much understanding 


The Closed Road 


149 


and appreciation. That is why I am going to 
take you up on the mesa before sunrise.” 

“ And see the sun come up behind the moun¬ 
tains! ” 

“ I shall come and wake you.” He released her 
hands. 

“ Oh, I shall be up. I always get up early. 
To think that I shall go up on the mesa! I have 
thought about it so long.” She turned back to 
the filly. “ And to have a horse like this! Has 
she a name? ” 

“ You can name her.” 

“ And I am going to call her the ‘ Yellow Corn 
Girl/ because Kate says that is one of the most 
beloved of the Navajo gods. She calls me that 
sometimes; but I am passing it on. Now it is 
your name —” She pulled the filly’s head down 
and said it in her ear. “ You are Yellow Corn 
Girl, and we’re going to have the best times to¬ 
gether anybody ever had. I’m the happiest 
person in the world, Louie.” 

She looked it as she turned her bright face 
toward him, her arms around the filly’s neck, and 
the sunshine turning her blowing hair to golden 
cornsilks. 

Next morning she was up and dressed in her 
riding suit of shabby brown corduroy, when a 
handful of gravel struck the upper panes of her 
window, and a fat red rosebud came tumbling 
through the open lower sash. 

She caught up the flower, ran to the window and 
looked out. 


150 The Closed Road 

Louie stood below, a dim figure in the gray 
dawn. 

“ Hurry,” he said. “ The dawn will not wait, 
and I am as impatient.” He held up his arms. 
“ Jump! I will catch you.” 

Laughing, she shook her head and tossed the 
rosebud back to him. 

“ I’ll take the stair; it is safer.” 

“ Why not trust me? ” 

Crevola was already out of the room, going 
quietly down the stair so as not to wake the 
household. She slipped out into the still wet 
morning twilight. The faint wind brushed her 
cheeks with its cool fingers. 

Louie waited at the gate with the horses, the 
breath of the morning wind in his eager voice. 

“ Come, the sky is brightening.” He put her 
into the saddle. “ Are you ready for revelations 
this morning? ” 

“ I feel ready for anything.” Her eyes sought 
the mesa rim. “ I am going out to see if the 
world drops off beyond the skyline. Her glance 
fell to meet his as he paused beside the horse, 
looking up at her w T ith a strange expression. 

“ Shouldn’t we start? ” she said. “ There isn’t 
much time.” 

He turned and swung atop of Berold, and the 
horses moved off side by side, the quiet beat of 
their unshod hoofs seemed in harmony with the 
hushed daybreak. 

In the aspen grove the first bird awoke, and the 
yellow warbler poured out his tiny heart in melody. 


The Closed Road 


151 


Crevola drew rein and lifted up her eyes searching 
through the leafy green of the aspens for a sight of 
the little songster; but Louie urged her on, up the 
slope and over the crest just as the sun peered 
over the uneven line of the Mogollon mountains, 
blurring the blue range to a misty line of apricot 
and gold, and touching a few fleecy clouds to 
primrose. 

The girl’s face reflected the glowing wonder of 
the new born day. Stretching out her arms toward 
the mountains, she cried eagerly: 

“ The rising sun! The mountains! The mar¬ 
velous space! ” She turned slowly in her saddle. 
“ The distance across the mesa —, and the beau¬ 
tiful, beautiful flowers! Is it like this always — 
Louie? Every day whether we are here to see it 
or not? ” 

“ At this time of the year after the summer 
rains, the mesa blooms as you see it now.” He 
swept his arm out toward the field of blossoms. 
Mexican poppies, tansy asters, the red Indian 
paint brushes, the yellow sulphur flower, and the 
golden prince’s plume contributed their vivid 
colors to add to the miracle of the dawn. 

The horses took their way out through the wild 
flower garden, and the scent of crushed verdure 
rose on the air. Crevola rode with rapt face and 
far-seeing eyes, almost oblivious of her com¬ 
panion. Louie said nothing, letting her drink in 
the color, and silence, and space, but he led her 
unnoticed in a wide circle that brought them again 
to the edge of the mesa. 


152 


The Closed Road 


She reigned in her horse. “ Oh, is it time to go 
back? Must we go down so soon? ” 

“ Fm afraid we must/ 7 he answered, holding 
Berold’s impatient head with a tight rein. “ They’ll 
think we have run away.” 

“ I don’t want to,” she said in a low, rebellious 
voice. “ There is something out here in the space 
that is calling to me, urging me to stay.” She 
looked at him questioningly, “ What is it? ” 

“ Your own desire.” His voice trembled at the 
thought of what this might mean to him later. 
“ It’s your own longing to be free from your prison 
walls, like a bird in a cage. It is perfectly natural, 
Crevola, and the right of all nature to be free. 
Nothing can be happy that is tied with bonds 
that chafe the spirit.” He flung back his head, 
his nostrils dilating sensitively, the color drained 
out of his face. 

She dropped her head, and reluctantly reined 
the filly down the slope. “ I can’t understand it. 
I never felt that way before. It is as if long arms 
were reaching out of the space, and unseen hands 
were pulling me back — out there. It’s very 
strange.” 

“ It’s only fancy,” assured Louie. “ It will 
leave you when you get more familiar with the 
mesa as you will now, because we are going to 
have many rides together, won’t we? ” 

She smiled absently at him, not being able to 
shake her mind free from imagination’s fog. 

Not liking the mood into which she had fallen, 
he talked on a pleasant stream of talk; but she 


The Closed Road 153 

rode with thoughtfully bent head, making vague 
replies, or none. 

They met Uncle Joe by the gate with the full 
milk pail, talking to Gonzales. Uncle Joe nodded 
briskly, but the Mexican gave them a searching 
look from his sinister eyes, and kicking Pepita’s 
mouse colored ribs, he hastened on into the aspen 
grove. 

With ready diplomacy, Louie went to some 
trouble to explain the reason for their early morn¬ 
ing ride, but Uncle Joe was not ill pleased. 

“ A fine sight, the mesa just now.” He picked 
up his pail. “ But I’m glad you got back, Crevola, 
for your Aunt must be awake by now, and she 
don’t like the way the squaw washes her face.” 

This was only an excuse, as Crevola knew, for 
fear that she would neglect Aunt Rachel; but she 
went directly into the house and into her aunt’s 
room. 

When she came out again, Louie stood by the 
kitchen door talking to Kate. His back was 
turned, but Crevola saw Kate’s face and dumb, 
tragic eyes raised to his. 

“ You shall, Kate,” promised Louie’s low voice 
with a guarded note. “ Be patient.” 

At Crevola’s light footfall he turned, embar¬ 
rassment just flashed across his face, and was 
gone. Kate vanished into the kitchen. 

He came to meet Crevola, smiling. “ Kate is 
getting homesick for Mary,” he explained readily. 
“ She is very fond of Mary. I have just been 


154 


The Closed Road 


promising her that when Mary comes, she shall 
see her.” 

Crevola took the explanation as truth, and her 
anxiety passed, though the incident was to come 
back to her later with forceful meaning. 

After breakfast Louie bade the household good¬ 
bye with a hearty handshake for Uncle Joe, and a 
friendly clasp for Crevola’s slim, brown fingers, 
mounted the fretting stallion and for the second 
time that morning climbed the slope to the mesa 
rim. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Although he seemed to notice little concerning 
her, Uncle Joe watched Louie’s coming and going 
with a satisfaction that bore no relation to Louie’s 
diplomatic policy toward him; for he saw in the 
handsome agreeable young man an easy solution 
to the problem that had long worried Aunt Rachel. 
Crevola must marry. She must have someone to 
look after her when they were gone. That Rachel 
should know and understand what was going on, 
the old man watched his chance when the “ squaw” 
was out of the room. 

He did not go in often these days, for Kate’s 
solemn majesty disconcerted him; so waiting until 
she was safely outside hanging out the washing, 
he went softly into the room where Rachel lay 
motionless propped up among her high pillows, her 
eyes closed, and little puffs of breath coming from 
her parted lips. 

He laid his rough old hand with its knotted 
fingers on the patchwork quilt above her breast. 

“ Rachel,” he said hesitantly; “ Rachel, are you 
awake? ” 

Her puffy lids opened, and the dim eyes looked 
up at him. She moved her lips, and with an 
effort, spoke his name. 

He bent over her, touching her swollen cheek 
with a clumsy kiss. 


156 


The Closed Road 


“ How do you feel, Rachel? ” Sitting down 
beside the bed he took one of her helpless hands, 
chafing it between his calloused palms. 

“ Rachel, I want to tell you something. Can 
you understand? ” 

Her dim eyes made the desired assent. 

“ It’s about the little girl, Crevola,” he said, 
and went on to tell of the fine young man who 
came so often to see her, who seemed to have 
plenty of money, talked of a ranch and cattle, and 
rode such a splendid horse. He had found Kate 
for them also, and he seemed to be much taken 
with the child. It was a good thing for her; no 
doubt her future was settled. 

Watching the relief and pleasure dawning in 
Rachel’s eyes, he talked on low and distinctly, 
until Kate’s gliding footsteps told him of her 
approach. 

He rose. “ It’s all right, Rachel, isn’t it? You 
won’t have to worry any more.” He stooped over 
her again and kissed her, and went out with the 
slow stiff tread of the aged; but his face was 
serene. He had set Rachel’s mind at rest. Yes, 
it was all right. He did not know that Louie had 
a wife. 

When Louie came again he brought a small rifle 
for Crevola, set up a target, and bade her shoot. 

She did not make a very good shot at first, but 
he encouraged her to practice, and they spent 
much time together shooting. And on their 
rides often Crevola took the rifle with her. Once 
they jumped a band of antelopes and her shot 


The Closed Road 


157 


brought down the leader. She wept at having 
taken the life of the beautiful creature, but Louie 
exulted, and carried it home across his saddle. 

Uncle Joe’s faded eyes sparkled with pleasure 
and Kate praised her. 

Crevola did not cry any more. It was, as Louie 
said, a new experience, and new experiences are 
what make life worth living. 

After he had gone she climbed the narrow stair 
to her bedroom. It was dark inside, but she 
raised the curtain as high as possible, letting the 
moonlight stream in across the bare floor. She 
made ready for bed, confined into a braid her 
rebellious hair, and thrust her rosy feet into a pair 
of crocheted slippers. 

She sat down in a low rocker beside the open 
window and looked out toward the mesa — that 
wonderful fairyland that led out into the world. 
Daily she was becoming more used to its expanse; 
and its lure grew stronger, its call more impera¬ 
tive. Louie’s words came back to her: “ Some day 
some one will come in over the mesa rim and take 
you out into the world.” Some day. Some 
future time. When? It seemed so far. Thoughts 
of the future itself had rarely occurred to her; 
there had been no life except this quiet existence 
under the height; but Louie had opened a new 
door into what had hitherto been a blank wall, 
and unknown vistas stretched out before her. 
The stories she read now in the books and maga¬ 
zines Louie brought, pictured the press of life, 
yet could it ever touch her? Would the present 


158 


The Closed Road 


phase of life ever end? It did not seem possible. 
One day just came after another and threw no 
light on the day that was yet to come. 

The moon shadows shortened as the round 
yellow torch climbed to the zenith. Unsatisfied, 
for the lighted, sleeping world or the millions of 
dumb, winking stars gave no answers to the 
questions thronging through her brain, she rose, 
tied on her close little night cap and slipped into 
bed. 

But the call of the distance stayed with her; 
the lure of the unknown future fascinated her with 
its vague insinuations, its elusive suggestions, its 
tantalizing intangibility. 

She spoke of it one evening to Louie as they 
rode home through a sunset that thrilled her to the 
foundations of her being; a wonderful sunset seen 
across the plain, a blazing panorama of beauty 
far, far on every side, widening and multiplying 
the world room, calling to her soul from the utmost 
fringe of unmeasurable space. 

She watched it until it faded to a pale afterglow; 
but Louie forgot the sky in looking at the changing 
emotions of her face, and when the twilight fell 
soberly around them they passed into the shadow 
of the cottonwoods. When he helped her to dis¬ 
mount her eyes were still shining through the dark. 

“ Louie,” she said, “ Have you ever seen a more 
wonderful sunset? ” 

“ No,” he said, “ for I saw it reflected in your 
eyes.” 

“ I think sometimes my life is going to be like 


The Closed Road 


159 


that/’ she continued swiftly. “ Last night — do 
you remember — the sky was a pale, soft blue; 
quiet and clear, unmarked by anything; tonight 
it has been a splendid revelation. Last night was 
as my life used to be, and tonight — tonight I feel 
the glory of the warmth and color rising about me, 
more wonderful than I ever have had power to 
imagine.” 

“ Why does it seem so? ” 

“ I don’t know. Everything seems to con¬ 
tribute, and its coming has come with you — you 
who have brought so much into my life.” 

He gripped his fingers hard on the filly’s reins. 
He dared not answer. They were standing just as 
she had dismounted, he held the bridle reins, and 
her right hand still rested on the pommel of her 
saddle. Her nearness made him dumb. 

“ So much,” she repeated since he did not 
speak. 

“It is nothing,” he said constrainedly and 
moved away from her; “ I have received more.” 

“ I hoped,” she said, her eyes following him, 
“ that you might find something in it to repay you.” 

“ Something! — Crevola —” He turned swiftly 
back, too quickly for her to realize or know his 
intention, and kissed her. 

She made no outcry, but she recoiled. The 
light of her spirit went out as a physical flame dies. 
She drew farther back from him and he knew that 
she was looking steadily at him though he could 
not see her face in the deepening dark. 

He did not know why his ready tongue failed 


160 


The Closed Road 


him. His arms dropped to his sides and only 
Berold’s impatient mouthing of the bit disturbed 
the stillness. Yet he was afraid to let her break 
the silence. He forced his voice to a natural 
tone. 

“ Good night, Crevola. I won’t stay tonight. 
I’m going to Seligman.” 

She gave him no answer. He felt her repel him, 
dismiss him, though she did not move or speak. 
He could only go; but he lingered and repeated: 
“ Good night, Crevola.” 

She did not even turn her head or make any 
sign when he mounted Berold and rode away 
through the dark. 

It was not until Berold shrilled his good night 
to the filly that Crevola aroused. She picked up 
the rein Louie had let fall, led the horse to the 
stable, unsaddled her and gave her a generous 
manger full of hay. Then she went back to the 
house. 

In the kitchen the table was set as usual, for two, 
and the Navajo sat huddled by the stove waiting 
for them, as she always waited. She looked up, 
her eyes narrowed as she glanced past Crevola. 

“ Where Louie? ” she asked. 

Crevola drew off her buckskin gauntlets. “ He 
did not stay tonight.” 

“ Why? ” 

“ He said he had to go to Seligman.” Her 
voice trembled. It did not escape Kate’s sharp 
ears. “I’m not at all hungry tonight, Kate; I 
don’t want any supper.” 


The Closed Road 


161 


“ Why? ” insisted the Navajo, looking at her 
with keen, bright eyes; “ Why no eat? ” 

A feeling of anger rose within Crevola tinging 
her pale cheeks and steadying her voice. “ I’m 
very tired. We rode too far, I think. I’m going 
straight to bed.” 

She turned toward the door, but Kate got up 
and interposed her tall figure between her and the 
door. 

“ Eat helps tired. The chocolate is hot,” she 
said softly. 

The note of maternal tenderness in her voice 
threatened the girl’s calm, a lump came into her 
throat. “ No,” she insisted unsteadily; “ I 
couldn’t eat. I only want to go to bed.” 

The Navajo followed her to the foot of the 
stair, stealing after her like an unwelcome dog. 
She timidly laid a detaining hand on Crevola’s 
arm. “ You know Louie Barbano? ” She shook 
her head slowly. “ He not good mans. You 
know his wife? ” 

Crevola drew away from the coarse brown 
hand. “ I know he has a wife.” She opened the 
stair door. “ I haven’t met her. Good night, 
Kate.” She closed the door between them. It 
opened behind her, paused, shut reluctantly, 
opened and shut again. 

Feeling her way up, for the narrow stair was in 
darkness, many thoughts surged over her. Yes, 
she knew he had a wife; he had made it no secret, 
yet why did that make him a bad man? That 
was why he was here, because she had gone away 


162 


The Closed Road 


and left him alone and unhappy, she supposed. 
How did Kate know whether he was good or bad? 
Surely no bad man could be so wonderfully kind 
to a lonely girl as he had been! But why did he 
kiss her when he had a wife? Kisses were for 
lovers. And he had kissed her. It lay on her 
lips so alive, so sentient that she felt it must be a 
visible thing; but the mirror which reflected her 
white face disclosed no change in her warm, curv¬ 
ing mouth. Yet he had kissed her, and he had 
a wife! 

She suddenly abandoned thought. Hiding her 
face on the pillow of her bed, she cried and cried. 


CHAPTER XV 


A feeling of irritated regret took hold of Louie 
as he rode away. He looked back once. He 
could not see, but he heard the Corn Girl’s meas¬ 
ured step toward the stable. He wheeled the 
stallion sharply. 

Immediately he changed his mind. He would 
not go back to the straight look of Crevola’s, to 
her disconcerting stillness. Tomorrow, or next 
day she would be aroused. She would talk, or 
cry or be angry. He checked and wheeled the 
horse again. His merciless hand on the bridle 
sent Berold into savage protest. He reared 
angrily on his hind feet. 

Impatiently Louie dug his spurred heel into the 
sensitive flank. The stallion reared and reared 
again; then pitched forward with a great leap like 
a shot deer, and plunged into the darkness under 
the aspen trees. 

The thrill of conquest surged over Louie. He 
laughed aloud, and the sound seemed torn from his 
lips and flung behind him. Every nerve in his 
body grew taut as a fiddle string. Instinctively 
his knees gripped the great ribs, and he set his 
weight back on the bridle. 

It was as nothing; it only served farther to 
arouse Berold’s wild blood. The low brush 
crashed under his feet as he fought his way up to 


164 


The Closed Road 


the mesa height. And once on the level, the 
staccato beat of his flying hoofs pounded furiously 
against Louie’s ears, as the stallion took his 
frenzied way across the wide plateau. 

With his head ducked low, his knees clamped on 
Berold’s heavy ribs Louie saw the dark tree shapes 
blur past like rain. The mesquite brush whipped 
his bared head; he felt the blood follow their 
sting across his face. The wind parted, rasping 
his face on either side, and the sharp stab of the 
Spanish bayonet burned his straining muscles. 

He saw the thin, crooked line of a rain washed 
gully ahead on the white sand. It seemed to leap 
toward them and yawned its dark depths under 
the stallion’s nose. The shrill whir of a rattle¬ 
snake ceased suddenly. He felt Berold gather 
his great legs under him and shoot forward with 
ferocious impetus, and blackness stretched be¬ 
neath them. 

Instinctively he threw his weight forward, and 
a cry half horror, half encouragement, burst from 
his throat, as the great horse missed his footing 
on the crumbling bank beyond, staggered and all 
but fell. 

The sweat poured over Louie’s body; but with 
a savage scream Berold recovered himself and 
plunged on, carrying Louie, he did not know where, 
in the darkness — now a luminous darkness that 
seemed to mix with the faint light of the rising 
moon, and shift like fog in the canyon. Into the 
heart of this far darkness the mad stallion forged, 
contemptuous of control. 


The Closed Road 


165 


How far they went Louie could take no note. 
The infuriated stallion stopped his pace, now, to 
rear, and kick, and buck, trying to rid himself of 
his rider. His screams of rage woke appalling 
echoes through the night. 

Louie rammed his long Spanish spurs into the 
cinch and laid his quirt savagely on shoulder, hip 
and head. The half tamed brute got down on his 
feet and plunged on again. They left the mesquite 
brush behind. The gullies became less frequent. 
Low-hanging branches scraped Louie’s shoulders 
as he crouched in the saddle. The giant cacti’s 
poisoned spines pierced his flesh. Berold leaped 
a fallen log and shot between two close-standing 
trees that skinned both of Louie’s knees in passing. 
Another moment and they pitched into a dark 
canyon where loose rocks rolled under the stal¬ 
lion’s feet and went crashing down the banks. 
But sure footed as a mountain goat, he sped on. 
Powerless to stop his infuriated flight, Louie could 
only hug closer with his straining knees and take 
his chances. 

The timber became larger and less dense. The 
ground rose steeply. Berold’s breath whistled 
through his nostrils. The strain on Louie’s arms 
weakened and when at last, he pulled the stallion 
down to a stand-still, the great horse dripped with 
bloody foam and he shook as from a chill. 

Louie eased his cramped and weary legs in the 
stirrups. He leaned down and laid his hand on 
Berold’s wet shoulder, and on his reeking flank. 

Yet only half conquered, he flinched and reared; 


166 


The Closed Road 


but Louie had him in hand now. “ So ho, my 
boy! ” he soothed. “ You’ve done enough to¬ 
night.” He drew his arm across his own aching 
eyes, and laughed loud and arrogantly. Once 
again he had fought with Berold and showed him 
who was master! 

The moon suddenly peered in through the trees 
and proved him in a strange place. It showed 
him with his hat gone, his shirt almost torn from 
him; his white face streaked with blood and 
sweat; and one long black lock of hair hanging 
down his forehead above his victoriously gleaming 
eyes. 

The yap of a far off coyote raised Berold’s ner¬ 
vous head. Louie looked in the direction from 
which it came. A light glimmered through the 
hanging pine needles. 


CHAPTER XVI 


He turned the stallion and urged him through 
the little forest of pine saplings toward the light. 
When he reached it he found a rough cabin sur¬ 
rounded by slender pines close up to the door. He 
hallooed and a man came out holding a lantern 
high, illuminating an unshaven, ruddy, young face. 

“ Hello, Raleigh! ” Louie cried, reining in the 
stallion; “ I didn’t know this was your shack.” 

The Forest Ranger threw his light on his visitor. 
“ What the devil, Louie! ” he exclaimed. 

Louie laughed as he wiped the warm blood still 
trickling down his face. “ No, I haven’t met up 
with a cross bobcat, nor even a Hopi squaw. 
Berold and I have just been having a little fun. 
He’s a long, long way from the state of civilization 
yet.” 

“ He’ll kill you some day,” said Raleigh cheer¬ 
fully. “ But get down, man —” 

“ I believe it.” Louie laughed with perfect 
confidence in himself as he swung wearily from the 
saddle. “ But I’ll be a changed man before he 
does. Still it’s a sure thing, he’s no hobby horse 
for little Willie.” 

“You must have had some time judging from 
the look of you both. How did you get here? ” 


168 


The Closed Road 


11 Overland. Got any water? We’re both as 
dry as sand lizards.” 

“ Sure! This way. I’m just feeding so you’re 
in time. Out of my way, Boxer! ” (This to a 
sleek haired brown dog which followed close at his 
heels.) 

He led the way, a tall, stalwart figure in the 
khakies and leggings of the outdoor man. Louie 
followed leading the reeking stallion. 

While Louie cared for Berold and washed him¬ 
self, the young Ranger prepared for his guest by 
adding another tin plate and cup to the end of 
the table already set. The other end was littered 
by a mass of papers, magazines, writing materials, 
a few loose cartridges, a pocket compass; and 
beside the ink bottle scowled a hideous Apache 
god wrought in copper. 

He set a steaming kettle which gave forth en¬ 
ticing smells on the table, flanked it on either side 
by a blackened coffee pot, and a tin pan of biscuits 
from the Dutch oven before the fireplace. 

He drew up a second chair. “ Get your legs 
under,” he said with a hospitable smile. 

A half hour later, having shown considerable 
appreciation of his host’s cookery, Louie leaned 
back in his chair and reached in his pocket for a 
cigarette. He offered one to Raleigh, but he 
refused. 

“ No, thank you. I’d rather have my pipe,” he 
said getting up and taking it from the mantle. He 
set the bean pot on the floor for the dog, filled his 
pipe, and sitting down, began to talk. 


The Closed Road 


169 


Raleigh talked, but Louie leaned back in his 
chair smoking, his face preoccupied. The brown 
dog licked the pot clean and lay down on the 
hearth. 

On the whole, Louie was glad Berold had 
brought him here. He liked his handsome, 
friendly host. He roused himself to ask or answer 
questions as Raleigh told of his work the few 
months past, of surveying, classifying timber and 
keeping a lookout for forest fires. His glance 
roved around the cabin from the rude shelves 
littered with odds and ends, to the saddle in one 
corner, a bunk in the other, and back to the fire¬ 
place and his host. 

“ You’ve got a cosy shack here,” he said lighting 
another cigarette. 

Raleigh’s blue eyes smiled contentedly as he 
puffed his pipe. “ I like it. This is my head¬ 
quarters. I work from here.” 

“ Pretty lonesome, isn’t it? Got any neigh¬ 
bors? ” Louie flipped the match into the fireplace, 
watching his host’s face. 

“ Haven’t ever seen any. Well, I believe there 
is a family ten or twelve miles southeast from here. 
I forget the name; something like Brown. I’ve 
been so busy I haven’t had time to look up 
neighbors. I’ve been collecting a lot of Indian 
photographs and things to send to my sister in 
California. I’ve got a dandy bunch —” He rose 
with his pipe between his teeth and got a thick 
portfolio from a box under the bunk,flaid it on the 
table, and turned the lantern higher. 


170 


The Closed Road 


Louie drew up his chair, keen interest in his face. 

Raleigh opened the album. “ There’s old 
Manuelito, a hale old Navajo chief. From him I 
got that.” He indicated the copper image on the 
table. 

Louie took it up with the air of a connoisseur. 
“ I want to get one like that for a friend.” 

“ Take that,” said Raleigh. “ It carries some 
sort of a blessing, I believe, with it. I’ve got loads 
of that junk if you’re interested. Some pretty rare 
specimens.” 

He dragged the box out and the two men sat 
until late over the curios. 

The next morning Raleigh prepared to go farther 
up on the mountain where he had some surveying 
to do and the business of keeping the sheep men 
off the cattle reserves. He invited Louie to go, 
and Louie accepted readily. 

It was a long trip and Louie enjoyed it thor¬ 
oughly as he did most things. The young Ranger 
was a congenial companion, and the only thing 
that disturbed Louie was a letter from Mary, 
sent on by a conscientious foreman, in which Mary 
said she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to come 
home. 

He read it with an unpleasant expression on his 
handsome face, then flung it into the fire. Too 
bad she was ill and homesick, but the greater the 
distance between them, the more charitably he 
could feel toward her. He wasn’t pining to see 
her. She was the least desire of his eyes. 

But he found himself longing for Crevola with a 


The Closed Road 


171 


stronger desire than he had ever felt for any 
woman. The wish grew until he abruptly ended 
his visit in the Ranger’s mountain camp, and 
sought the valley, and Crevola. 

The days of his absence had been lonely indeed 
for Crevola. She could find no way to put in the 
time. If she tried to read, crochet, or sew, soon 
her hands dropped idly to her lap, and her wistful 
eyes sought the horizon above the slope. It was 
no pleasure to shoot. There was no one to note 
if she hit the mark or shot at random. The rides 
on the mesa alone were irksome; and what pleas¬ 
ure to walk with no companion but a dumb lamb? 
If she tried to do for Aunt Rachel she almost 
always said thickly, “ Where’s Kate? ” and in the 
kitchen Kate took the work from her hands with 
a brief and unargumentative “ I do that.” Uncle 
Joe only nodded briskly or vaguely, as was his 
mood, when she tried to talk to him. The Vic- 
trola was her one resource. 

For long stretches of time she sat and listened 
to the beautiful music, and the songs by voices 
whose melody went beyond anything she had 
power to imagine. 

Yet she was still more lonely when the music 
ceased. She would put away the records and 
walk aimlessly out into the twilight always looking 
toward the mesa rim, recalling the first time Louie 
had come with the great horse, and how much life 
had changed for her since then. Was he gone 
forever? Would she never see him again? And 


172 


The Closed Road 


if she did not, how could life go on? Would it go 
on and on until she grew old, old in the silence and 
loneliness like Aunt Rachel perhaps? No, no. 
He must come back. Then she would go in and 
dress in her yellow dress and wait expectantly 
until the old clock on the wall told her hope for 
that day was dead. 

When he did come back, he found her sitting in 
the lee of the rose hedge in her white cotton dress, 
quietly darning Uncle Joe’s worn gray socks. 

She rose with a startled look and exclamation, 
the color flashing warmly over her face; but she 
regained her poise before she laid her hand in his 
in quiet welcome. Yet her manner was changed, 
more reserved, as it had been on that first night. 

Louie took her hand with a sort of sweet gravity 
in his face, seated himself in the chair she indi¬ 
cated with an air of gentle sadness tinged with 
joy at seeing her again. With great skill he con¬ 
veyed to her, sometimes by a few well chosen 
words, sometimes by his silence how he had missed 
her, and how heavenly kind of her to welcome him 
again under her roses. 

His humility and loneliness smote her heart. 
Wasn’t he too, lonely, bereft of wife and child? 
Unconsciously she softened toward him. After 
all, perhaps he too had suffered. 

So Louie sat beside her through the long after¬ 
noon and talked to her of impersonal things, the 
while he threaded her darning needles with the 
coarse white cotton with which she darned in¬ 
numerable holes in Uncle Joe’s socks. 


The Closed Road 


173 


When he went away through the slanting sun¬ 
beams of evening, he left her standing wistful eyed 
under the plum tree, contending with a sense of 
loss that she had no power to interpret or dispel. 

Louie did not overlook his advantage, knowing, 
with his greater experience, how far she was going 
down the path of their dangerous friendship. If 
he had any qualms, he silenced them with his own 
philosophy. Was the girl with her beauty and 
rich promise to wither away in her isolation like 
an ungathered desert poppy? 

“ Of what use I say, of the lips red charm, 

And the blood that blues the inside arm? ” 

So he reasoned. He wanted her, and he had 
never denied himself. 

But the indefinable change in her manner awoke 
him to the need of caution and finesse. He met in 
her a new element to combat, powerful in itself 
and vaguely unfamiliar. While it gave him 
keener zest he realized, to his astonishment, that 
he began to feel the necessity of employing his 
reserve skill. He visited her more frequently, and 
employed this skill in winning back her former 
confidence, taking care not to betray, in the 
faintest manner, the perfect trust she had placed 
in him. 


CHAPTER XVII 


That he had, in a great measure, accomplished 
this, was proven when Crevola met him in the 
garden one day with much of her former gaiety. 
Her eyes glowed with interest. 

“ Louie,” she said; “ I have something per¬ 
fectly marvelous to tell you. Sit down here. 
I’m afraid Kate will hear me.” 

She sat down and he took the seat beside her, 
laying his hat on the ground. “ What is it? ” 

She clasped her hands under her chin, looking 
at him over them. 

“ Gonzales came one day last w T eek and brought 
me a leg of mutton, and Kate a silk handkerchief.” 

“ That was nice of the old fellow,” said Louie 
indulgently. 

“ But the amazing part is this: He had on a 
brand new scarlet sash and a clean shirt! ” Cre¬ 
vola paused to let the information sink in. She 
expected Louie to laugh, but instead he started up 
in swift and angry comprehension, a black frown 
on his face. 

“ What is the old villain up to? ” he demanded 
harshly. “ What does he mean by coming here 
decked in scarlet sashes, bringing legs of mutton 
and silk handkerchiefs? ” 

“ Why, there was only one of each,” said Crevola 
mildly, smiling sweetly into his angry face. “ He 


The Closed Hoad 


175 


has always brought legs of mutton; that is nothing 
new.” 

“ Perhaps not,” he insisted indignantly; “ but 
his rainbow plumage! I have known that sash 
for ten years, and that shirt was like the skin of 
one of his own sheep — he was born with it on his 
back! ” 

Crevola laughed quietly. “ I think,” she said 
seriously, “ that he wanted to appear well before 
Kate, because he insisted on seeing her to present 
his gift, and they talked together a long time. 
Laugh, Louie! I think it is very funny; Kate is 
so dignified and handsome, and Gonzales did look 
so comical in a clean shirt! ” 

Crevola laughed again, trying to brush away his 
annoyance, but his face did not clear. He sat 
scowling, in his mind the thought of something 
far more serious than she pictured. Crevola was 
a beautiful woman, and after all, Gonzales was a 
man, and Louie knew men. 

He could not shake off his suspicions, nor rise 
to Crevola’s gaiety; but after an unsatisfactory 
half hour of pretending, he made an excuse and 
rode away. 

He went straight to Gonzales’ camp as fast as it 
pleased Berold to go. 

The long yellow rays of sunset slanted through 
the pines around the little clearing where the old 
Mexican had pitched his tent. The sheep stood 
or lay about in groups, the lambs by their mothers’ 
sides, and Pepita wandered at will, her bell 
tinkling sleepily. 


176 


The Closed Road 


Gonzales himself squatted beside a camp fire, 
cutting slices of fresh mutton into a long handled 
frying pan. His two black and tan shepherds sat 
on their haunches with jaws dripping after the 
pieces of meat Gonzales flung them. 

The restless baaing of the still unsettled sheep 
filled the air with a plaintive sound. The smell of 
dipped wool, and Gonzales’ smoking pipe offended 
the nostrils. 

The near approach of Gonzales’ unpleasant 
surroundings made Berold rear and snort savagely. 
It was some minutes before Louie could induce 
him to approach, but he finally, after much per¬ 
suasion, consented to stop, several yards away, 
snorting his disgust. 

As Louie dismounted Gonzales got up with his 
long knife in his hand, remarking in forceful 
Spanish that the stallion’s manners had not im¬ 
proved. 

Louie laughed as he untied his lariat from his 
saddle and tethered Berold to a tree. “ He’s the 
same old angel, Gonzales. How will you trade 
the little mule, Pepita, for him? ” 

“ I wouldn’t have him as a gift, Senor Louie. 
If you come here to trade me out of my Pepita, 
get something that is half her worth.” 

Gonzales smiled sociably, his villainous, crooked 
smile as Louie advanced toward the fire. The 
two dogs leaped and fawned upon him. 

u To be honest then,” said Louie sitting down on 
an upturned box with an arm around each dog, 
“ I came to take supper with you. Cut some more 


The Closed Road 177 

mutton there, for I bring a man’s appetite with 
me.” 

Delighted, Gonzales fell to his task again. 
“Una, dois, trois ,”—he counted the red slices 
into the pan. 

“ No less than half a dozen,” protested Louie; 
“ It’s been months since I tasted camp mutton 
and frijoles.” 

“ I’ve got them too.” Gonzales hastened a 
blackened bean kettle on the coals, and opening 
the steaming coffee pot, poured in more coffee 
from a red can, meanwhile asking the Senor many 
questions in Spanish, for his English was difficult. 

The smell of the sputtering mutton mingled 
with the smoke from the fire. The dogs lay down 
by Louie’s side, coolness pervaded the evening 
air, and the sheep quieted down. Only the tinkle 
of Pepita’s bell as she wandered in and out 
among the trees, disturbed the stillness. 

Gonzales brought the tin cups and plates, took 
the hissing pan from the fire, and said: 

“ Eat, Senor; the mutton is the loin of a ten- 
month lamb.” 

Louie sat on the ground opposite his host. The 
two dogs, taking their places on each side of Gon¬ 
zales, shared his plate. Once he cuffed the too- 
eager nose of the dog on his left. 

“Peste, you devil! I had that for myself.” 

The dog leaped back with a surprised yelp, but 
the other burned his nose on the hot frijoles which 
heaped Gonzales’ plate. At this the old Mexican 
drove them away and resumed his meal. 


178 


The Closed Road 


Notwithstanding his fellow diners, Louie ate 
with relish and enjoyment. After he was satisfied, 
he lit a cigarette and leaned back, his elbow on 
the ground. 

Gonzales threw the rest of the mutton to the 
dogs, and getting up, replenished the fire, accepted 
a cigarette from Louie; and he too, lay back on the 
ground and smoked. 

The leaping flames from the dried pine branches 
flared up among clouds of spangled smoke, light¬ 
ing with a red glow the faces of the two men, both 
grave and quiet. 

Louie watched the old man’s seamed and 
weather beaten face as he smoked silently, blowing 
the smoke out at one side of his misshapen mouth; 
watched him from the standpoint of the story 
Crevola had told. His shirt could hardly be 
recognized from her description, but the scarlet 
sash, though streaked and blackened, was un¬ 
questionably new. 

“ Gonzales,” he said humoring the old Mexi¬ 
can’s love for his own tongue; “ I don’t like your 
new sash as well as the old one. Why did you 
change? ” 

“ Nor I.” Gonzales spat between his two front 
snags into the fire, “ or the shirt either. It does 
not fit so well. Besides I had got used to it. But 
I took it off for one moment to scratch my back, 
and that she devil of a donkey ate it, and my sash 
as well.” 

Louie laughed silently at the old Mexican’s tone 
of exasperation. 


The Closed Road 


179 


“ I heard that you had a new one.” 

“ A man can’t go without a shirt,” said Gon¬ 
zales excusingly. He looked at Louie keenly. 
“ Did the Senorita tell you? ” 

“ She told me you were there paying addresses 
to Kate.” Louie smiled impudently, watching 
the old man’s fire lit face. He had no advantage 
over the other except for his better eyesight, for 
the fire glow revealed his features clearly to the 
man opposite, and Gonzales sat imperturbably 
searching the younger man’s countenance. 

He did not answer Louie’s bantering insinua¬ 
tion. Taking the cigarette from between his lips, 
he threw it into the fire, and reaching in his pocket 
for his pipe, he filled the bowl, set a live coal on top, 
and drew at it until the tobacco caught, and 
glowed red. 

“ Senor Louie,” he began gravely in his harsh 
Spanish; “ I’ve known the Senorita since she was 
so high.” He measured the height of one of his 
dogs from the ground. “ I have seen her grow 
and bloom like a white poppy. She is now a 
woman and a blessed angel! ” 

The red that burned on Louie’s cheek was not 
all from the fire; but he made no answer. Let 
Gonzales explain himself. 

“ I have been alone for many years,” the old 
man went on; “since — ” He paused, drawing 
strongly at his pipe, a strange emotion in his 
wrinkled face. He did not finish the sentence, but 
began a new one. “ Once when she was small, 
too small to know better, she climbed to my knee 


180 


The Closed Road 


and put her two fat arms around my neck — think 
of it, Senor. The horsehide neck of old Gonzales!” 
He stopped and spat into the fire again, unmindful 
of the tear that glistened on his seamed cheek. 

“ The aunt chided her, which was right; old 
sheepherders have no right to lay white poppies 
against their greasy shirts. But, Senor — she 
turned to the Senora with the same big eyes that 
look at one today saying: ‘ But Gonzales is good 
to me. I love him. Why can’t I tell him so? ’ 
Those were her very words, Senor. I have not 
forgotten them all these years —” 

The blaze of the fire died down to glowing 
embers; the hush of night had stilled for the 
moment every sound, even Pepita’s bell. At 
once high up in the tree tops a breath of wind 
stirred, came near, circled the fire, and catching a 
handful of white ashes sent them whirling upward 
into the dark. 

Louie lay still, unaccountably affected, looking 
at the embers. Gonzales sat pulling at his pipe 
with his eyes on the younger man’s face. He 
spoke again. 

“ The Senora is dead here,” he pointed to his 
limbs; “ and the Senor Bronson — gone — here,” 
he tapped his forehead, “ and moreover he is an 
old fool to whom a man cannot talk. But I want 
it known, I want it understood, I have told the 
Navajo woman, that, helpless as the Senorita 
seems, there is a good rifle at her back. And 
Senor —” his incisive tone compelled the younger 
man’s gaze, “ if harm should come to the Senorita, 


The Closed Road 


181 


what Gonzales has done once, he can do again, 
and will, no matter who is the man .’ 7 

The old Mexican's meaning was unmistakable. 

Flinging away his cigarette, Louie sat up, a red 
flush pouring over his face, dying his ears and 
throat. In his mind was the memory of the story 
he had heard long ago of Gonzales' young wife and 
the fearful fate at Gonzales' hands of the man 
who betrayed her. 

“ Thank God! " he said fervently, meeting the 
old man's eyes squarely. 

Gonzales' piercing look searched him through 
and through; but the younger man's eyes did not 
waver, and he said again, 

“ Thank God, Gonzales, that she has such a 
friend. But," he added; “ she has yet a stronger 
guard, one that is always with her; and that is 
her own sweet innocence, her own goodness and 
purity." 

“ That may be to her credit with some men," 
answered Gonzales, “ but there still be devils who 
take advantage of that. And, as I say, the rifle 
is there." Grimly Gonzales removed his pipe 
from between his lips, pressed the fire out of it 
with one horny finger, and rose. 

“ I'm going to bed, Senor Louie. Will you 
stay? I've an extra blanket." 

“ No, thank you." Louie got up. “ Berold is 
anxious to move." He advanced and untied the 
restless stallion, saying over his shoulder, “ But 
I'll be back some day to have supper with you 


182 


The Closed Road 


again. Steady, Berold, my boy! Good night, 
Gonzales.” 

He sprang into the saddle. Berold reared and 
leaped into the shadows and the night swallowed 
them. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The resuming of the pleasant relations between 
Louie and herself sent Crevola’s life on again in 
pleasant progression, but the fullness of her own 
content did blind her to the fact that for some 
reason, Kate was unhappy. 

Always silent, the Navajo grew moody and 
irritable, and would not answer Crevola’s kindly 
talk. She took long walks by herself in the eve¬ 
ning, and once she forgot to give Aunt Rachel her 
supper. 

“ Are you sick, Kate? Can I do something for 
you? ” asked Crevola sympathetically. 

The Navajo gave her a sullen look from her dull 
black eyes. 

“ No,” she said shortly, and going out shut the 
door behind her. 

The next morning after breakfast she came in 
dressed in her best dress of dark red wool, a red 
shawl tied about her head. 

“ I go,” she said. 

With her hands in the dish water, Crevola 
turned a startled face toward her. “ Going! 
Where? What for? ” 

Kate stood impassive, clutching her shawl with 
both brown hands. 

“ Can I take your horse? I gone seven days. 
I come back.” She lifted her dumb dog’s eyes, 


184 The Closed Road 

with an expression of hurt, pleading, defiance 
mingled. 

Their strangeness affected Crevola beyond the 
point of refusal, but she demurred. “ I may need 
the horse, Kate; and I don’t know where you’re 
going.” 

“ I walk, I gone fourteen days. I not hurt her. 
I bring her back.” 

“ But where do you want to go? ” insisted 
Crevola. 

Kate gave her a tragic look and shut her lips 
tightly. She cast down her eyes and would not 
answer. She did not, could not tell Crevola how 
she hungered for her baby. 

In the end, against her better judgment, Crevola 
let her take the horse and go. Feeling keenly the 
protest of the Navajo’s silent manner, she led the 
filly from the stable herself, and with a doubtful 
face watched from under the plum tree as the 
Indian woman rode away. 

“ I don’t know what Louie will say, but I simply 
couldn’t refuse her.” Crevola went back into the 
living room where Aunt Rachel lay in her wheel 
chair looking at the door with lack-luster eyes. 
She made Crevola understand that she wanted 
to go back to her bed. 

Crevola wheeled her into the bedroom which 
Kate kept neat and orderly as a nun’s cell. She 
pushed the chair close up to the bedside, and 
leaning over the heavy body, lifted her. The 
burden was too much for her slight form and 
overcome by the weight, she almost let her fall. 


The Closed Rond 


185 


The helpless creature screamed, a hoarse, in¬ 
articulate cry of terror. 

“ It’s all right, Aunt. I won’t let you fall. 
You know I won’t,” yet the perspiration broke 
out on her forehead and her knees trembled. She 
arranged the pillows and tucked the blanket 
around the inert figure, and went back to her 
dishes. 

An hour later Uncle Joe came into the living 
room where Crevola sat darning, sheepishly alert, 
his worn black hat set back from the straggling 
locks of white hair, and made a great to-do about 
his empty tobacco box. 

“ Well,” he said, “ I didn’t know I was clear out. 
I’ll have to go to Camp Verde. Do you want 
anything, Crevola? ” 

She looked up alarmed, her needle poised in air. 

Fearing her probable protest, he went out 
hastily and shut the door, not giving her time to 
answer him. 

She did not have the courage to run after him, 
yet when she saw him vanish over the edge of the 
mesa, she wished that she had told him what he 
probably did not know, that Kate had gone 
earlier. 

It was a long day to her. She had not realized 
how much Kate’s silent presence meant to her. 
She welcomed the evening shadows, but their 
coming did not bring Uncle Joe, nor did the dark, 
nor the coming dawn. 

Aunt Rachel, missing Kate’s strong, capable 
hand, grew restless and peevish, demanding almost 


186 


The Closed Road 


constant attention. Her frequent desire to be 
changed from chair to bed and back again became 
a task on the girl's strength. Yet patient and 
cheerful always with her, Crevola put her to bed 
for the night toward the evening of the second day. 
Then she went out to attend the stock. 

The air began to grow damp and chill, and high 
rain clouds piled up in the west. 

“ I wish Uncle would come, Pet Lamb," she 
said patting the lamb's woolly head. “ He might 
be caught in the storm. It's going to be terribly 
lonely in the house with no one but small me, 
especially if it storms. I wonder if Kate has 
reached her journey's end? " 

The lamb looked up mournfully and said, 
“ Ba-a-a! " 

“ She returned its gaze seriously. That doesn't 
help much, Lamb. I can't see a thing of Uncle, 
and it's getting dark. I'll have to hurry. And — 
oh, Pet! " She held her face against its wool for 
an instant, “ I hope — I'm not afraid! " 

As the dark settled a low rushing wind whipped 
the cottonwoods about. It came to her ears 
hoarsely whispering untranslatable things that 
savored of sadness and gloom. Sweeping around 
her as if repeating itself, it rushed defiantly up 
into the swaying tree tops and back again, tangling 
her skirts about her legs and flinging her hair 
across her face. 

Hurrying into the house she shut all the doors 
and windows with nervous hands, and built a fire 
in the fireplace. The flames cheered the room at 


The Closed Road 


187 


first, but soon the shadows caught the spirit of 
the wind and ran mockingly about on the walls; 
and in the corners lurked darkness and silence. 

Bringing in a lamp she started the Victrola. 
There was the last record Louie had brought: 
Tosti’s “ Let It Be Soon.” He had played it 
over several times until the words were all very 
clear; and sitting opposite her in the deep arm 
chair, that still stood beside the cabinet, he had 
made the song a vital thing by the glance of his 
eyes and the sympathetic cadence of his voice. 
She played it now. 

“ Let it be soon! The treasured daylight dies, 

And changes sadly to the chill of night; 

But summer reigns forever in thine eyes, 

And at thy touch, grief fadeth out of sight.” 

Listening, for a moment she forgot the wind 
while the sweet voice filled the room. And it 
almost seemed as if Louie sat there smiling with 
that look in his eyes that sometimes was hard to 
meet. 

“ Let it be soon! Life was not made 
To long for distant hours of dim futurity. 

Thy presence soothes me like some far off song! 
After sad years of longing love must swoon, 

Let it be soon! 

Let it be soon! Love cannot live like this 
Lost in a maze of wild expectancy: 

Life can endure if solaced by a kiss, 

But faith, if unrewarded, it must die. 

Thou art cold winter, I am sun in June. 

Let it be soon! Let it be soon! ” 


188 


The Closed Road 


It ended softly and the silence awakened her to 
reality. The chair was empty. Louie was not 
there. There was no responsive eye or hand to 
that weird voice that came so clearly from nothing 
that could hear or answer her own cry for a living 
presence. 

She tried to read. The windows rattled and a 
cottonwood limb scraped groaningly against the 
roof, so that the printed page had no message for 
her. Throwing down the book, she got out her 
crochet, but the wind roared into the silence of the 
room and she could not sit still. Perhaps it was 
better in her aunt’s room. But it was terrifying 
in there. Aunt Rachel lay still, her face pinched 
and white in the dim light, and her faint, snoring 
breath sounded horrible. 

She hastened back into the living room, at least 
here was light and silence. Going to the window 
she raised the sash to see if it were raining. The 
wind rushed in and extinguished the light; the 
blackness of the night seemed to pour into the 
room. As she leaned out listening, a drop of cold 
rain struck her cheek. The wind lulled and she 
thought she heard hoof beats. Straining every 
nerve, she listened intently, but the sound died 
away in the dark. 

Closing the window she pulled down the shade 
between herself and that terrifying dark, and 
grateful for the firelight, she made haste to relight 
the lamp. The sound of Aunt Rachel’s harsh, 
regular breathing suddenly seemed to come into 
the room like the steady beat of waves; and 


The Closed Road 


189 


she could see her white face staring out of the 
corners. 

Then a thought struck her poignantly. What 
if Aunt Rachel should die while she were here 
alone? Tonight! 

It gripped her, running on in all its dread possi¬ 
bilities until she felt her self-control slipping. She 
got up and paced the floor. 

“ Oh, why don’t Uncle come? ” 

Suddenly the curtain roller slipped without 
reason, as they will sometimes; the curtain 
whizzed shrieking to the top, and the black, bare * 
window faced her like a thing alive. 

Her scream rang through the house. She 
cowered and shuddered, and covered her face with 
her hands. 

Then a voice called: “ Crevola, Crevola! ” 

Louie’s voice! Where did it come from? She 
caught at her white cheeks with trembling hands 
as she looked about. Her eyes dilated; her 
breath stopped. She saw nothing but the blank 
window and the flickering shadows. She started 
for Aunt Rachel’s room in the instinctive desire to 
be near some living thing. 

But the voice called again: “ It is I, Louie. Let 
me in out of the storm.” 

It was real! It was Louie! She tore open the 
door and flung herself on him and clung to him in 
sobbing hysteria, her last vestige of control gone. 

“ Louie, Louie! I can’t stand it! I can’t! I 
can’t bear it another minute! ” 

His arms closed about her. “ Crevola! What 


190 


The Closed Road 


is it? Where is it? Crevola, dear one! ” he 
cried. But she could not answer him. She could 
do nothing but sob, and sob, and shudder in his 
arms. 

His quick eyes searched the room from the 
glowing fire and the shadowed nook by the book¬ 
case, past the staring black window, round the 
close shut doors back to Crevola’s limp figure, 
shaking in his arms. 

“ Tell me, child. Crevola! ” But still she 
could not answer him. He picked her up in his 
arms and carried her to the fire. He sat, holding 
her close, and rocked gently. All the time he 
soothed and hushed her tenderly as would a 
mother. 

“ The — the curtain — flew clear to the top,” 
she sobbed at last. 

He glanced up at the staring window and back 
again to her. 

“ When? ” 

“ Just — now.” 

He smiled down at her. “ It was only trying 
to show you I was coming.” He pressed her head 
closer where it lay against his shoulder. “ It’s all 
right now; isn't it? ” 

She shrank closer into the security of his arms, 
her lids closed, the spasmodic catches in her 
throat stopped; but she lay for a long time faint 
and quiet, hardly conscious that the storm had 
come and the rain was crashing on the roof. 

After a time she opened her eyes. “ What 
brought you, Louie? ” 


The Closed Road 


191 


“ The storm,” he answered truthfully; “ and 
thank the Blessed Virgin for it! We raced with 
it, Berold and I. It was behind us. We got here 
first. Now tell me, Crevola; it was not all the 
curtain.” 

The effort of speaking unnerved her again. As 
her voice began to fail he said, “ Wait, Crevola. 
Tell me after awhile.” They sat there together 
very still in the warm room. She did not notice 
Aunt Rachel's hoarse breathing. The shadows on 
the wall were no longer mockingly alive; but re¬ 
mote and inanimate. The storm was not now a 
menacing danger; but only the wind and rain 
beating against staunch walls. 

As her self control came back she said, “ For¬ 
get that I have been such a child, Louie." 

“ I don't think of you as a child, Crevola.” 

She got down out of his arms and going to the 
window she lowered the curtain. The rain beat 
hard against the glass and ran down the panes in 
streams. She came back and took a chair oppo¬ 
site him. 

“ I am so glad you came, Louie. I have been 
alone since yesterday morning.” 

“ Alone! Where is Kate? ” 

“ She went away yesterday morning. I don't 
know where. I could not dissuade her; and I let 
her have Corn Girl.” 

His face grew dark and angry. 

“ Perhaps I should not have let her take the 
horse,” Crevola hastened to say, “ but she said 


192 The Closed Road 

she would not be gone so long. I’m sure she will 
bring her back.” 

“ That is no matter, about the horse,” assured 
Louie. ‘ ‘ That was right; it will make her j ourney 
shorter. But she should not have gone, at all, 
and left you. It is her business to stay.” 

“ She was determined to go. Have you any 
idea why? It must have been something very 
important.” 

He moved impatiently. “ You can’t under¬ 
stand the Indian mind. But whether she had 
good reason or not, it must not happen again.” 

“ But how can we keep her here; be sure of 
her? I shall never know what minute she may get 
up and go. And Uncle — I can’t depend on him 
except just for so long. Sometimes —” Her 
voice trembled near hysteria again, “ Sometimes I 
think I shall go insane. I don’t know what to do! 
What I shall do? ” 

“ You shall not stay here any longer. It is not 
right,” he said almost roughly. “ I will take you 
away.” 

She turned her questioning eyes toward him. 
She did not hear what he said. Her ear, trained 
to catch the slightest sound on the stone flags, 
now heard quick footfalls and a hurried knocking 
at the door outside. 

Her eyes widened. “ That is not Uncle.” She 
went to the door and he rose to follow her, but 
paused at the voice outside which asked for shelter. 
His face grew perplexed. There was an interval 
of silence which might mean the visitor was re- 


The Closed Road 


193 


moving his wet outer garments — or something 
far more different. 

“ I put my horse under that shed out there,” 
said the voice. 

Louie resumed his seat. He looked up as the 
tall, blonde young man entered behind Crevola. 
He rose. He had not been mistaken in the voice. 

“ Hello, Raleigh/’ he said. “ Come to the fire; 
it’s a poor night to be out.” 

“ Yes.” Raleigh gave him an odd look as he 
advanced. “ It’s more pleasant to be inside.” 

Crevola looked from one to the other wondering 
who this second guest out of the storm might be. 
As Louie made no move to introduce her, she 
came forward. “ You are wet and cold,” she 
said; “ I will make some coffee.” 

“ No, no! Not for me, I beg of you! ” protested 
the young man turning toward her, his ruddy 
color deepening. 

“ It will be for us all. It will not take a mo¬ 
ment. I will boil it here on the coals.” She was 
gone after the coffee pot, and Raleigh turned 
blankly to Louie. 

With his back to the fire, Louie studied the 
young man’s every movement. What brought 
him here at this hour; it was nearly eleven 
o’clock? Was he in the habit of coming here? 
Did he tell the truth when he spoke of his unknown 
neighbors? Evidently he had found more leisure 
of late. He met Raleigh’s questioning look with¬ 
out a change of expression; turning, he kicked the 
fire together. 


194 


The Closed Road 


“ Where are you traveling? ” he asked. 

Raleigh held out his hand to the awakened 
blaze. “ Trying to get home when the storm 
overtook me. I lost my way, then I saw this 
light. Who lives here? ” 

Louie still looked at him keenly, but at the 
young Ranger’s guileless face, his lowering brow 
cleared. He enlightened Raleigh in a few words. 

“ You don’t mean that the girl is here alone? ” 
cried Raleigh. He was for going on at once, but 
Louie persuaded him to stay. “ She has been 
here alone two days. It is hardly human to leave 
her so again. Like you, I drifted in on the storm 
an hour ago. We can’t go and leave her like this. 
It is as well you came, isn’t it? ” 

“ Perhaps so,” Raleigh assented; but he was 
visibly ill at ease. He watched the door and 
when Crevola came back with the coffee pot, cups 
and cakes on a tray, he did not wait for Louie’s in¬ 
troduction. He met her across the room and took 
the tray from her hands. He set it on the table, 
stammering an apology for his presence there. 

“ Please don’t feel that you are unwelcome,” 
Crevola said graciously. “ Indeed, I can’t give 
you any idea how much it means to me to have 
someone here tonight. I’m not usually nervous, 
but—” her earnest face flushed—“ It is such a 
terrible storm! ” 

She started as a far off bolt of thunder broke, 
rolling nearer and nearer in appalling reverbera¬ 
tions. Her hands, holding the coffee pot, trembled 
visibly. 


The Closed Road 


195 


The young Ranger took the pot from her. 
“ Let me do it. I am sure lucky to be inside. I 
never experienced such thunder and lightning, 
and rain! I thought Fd been out in the rain 
before, but now I know I never have.” His 
hearty voice, like a brisk wind, dispelled the air of 
sadness that pervaded the room. He braced the 
coffee pot against the andiron and drew some hot 
coals around it. 

“ It is cozy here by the fire,” said Crevola taking 
the chair he pulled forward for her. 

“ It sure is! ” He beat his chilled hands to¬ 
gether and smiled at her, looking about him with 
wholesome appreciation. The room was warm 
and glowing with cheery lights, and the smell of 
the steaming coffee wafted delicately through the 
room. He stooped to straighten the leaning pot 
and heaped the coals higher. 

“ Sit down,” said Crevola. “ It will boil soon.” 

With some uncertainty in his manner he took 
the chair she indicated, and the three sat silent 
watching the coffee pot, each busy with thoughts 
in which it had no part. 

“ I hope no one else will be out in the storm,” 
said Crevola anxiously, thinking of her uncle. 

“ I hope whoever he is will find a good shelter 
as I have,” said Raleigh. The coffee pot boiled 
over and he sprang to the rescue, a moment too 
late. “ Pardon me! I was too slow,” he said 
ruefully, gingerly dragging the blackened pot out 
on the hearth. 

Crevola got up and arranged the cups and 


196 


The Closed Road 


Raleigh poured the coffee. She turned to Louie 
with a cup in her hand. He rose to receive it. 
She could not meet his eyes, but she saw that his 
mouth was drawn into grave lines. 

“ Sit down,” he said. “ Let me wait on you.” 

His manner of assurance put Raleigh in the 
background. With a puzzled expression he si¬ 
lently sugared his coffee, and took a cake from the 
plate that went around. These small courtesies 
attended to, Louie took his chair again and re¬ 
lapsed into seeming inattention, while Raleigh 
tried to dispel by light talk the strained feeling 
that had descended upon them. 

Crevola came to his support, but Louie watching 
the two took little part, and his face grew both 
sad and hard. 

Raleigh watched him covertly trying to fathom 
his connection with the house, his business here on 
such a night and the girl alone; but he found no 
satisfactory answer. And what he thought he 
read in Louie’s face, the girl’s disputed; yet 
searching closer there, he owned to himself he 
could make nothing of it. Thus they sat, the 
three whom the storm had assembled and still 
held together while the rain fell and the wind had 
its will with the stout old cottonwoods. 

The storm lulled for a moment. A heavy 
silence followed the cessation of the drumming 
rain. 

“It is late, Crevola,” said Louie; “ I don’t 
think your uncle will come tonight. Perhaps you 
had better go to bed.” 


The Closed Road 


197 


She hesitated, looking at Raleigh. 

“ Don't think of us/' he urged. “ We shall be 
all O.K. here by the fire, and you need rest." 

She smiled, looking at each in turn. “ Good 
night, then," she said, and left them both stand¬ 
ing until the door of her aunt's room opened and 
closed behind her. 

She did not undress, but lay down on the cot, 
after assuring herself that Aunt Rachel was all 
right. She did not sleep at first, but lay listening 
to the low murmur of the men's voices as they 
talked — of her, she feared, and her cheeks burned 
in the darkness. For the first time she felt shame 
in her situation, as she recalled the young Ranger's 
face once or twice during his talk. His manner, 
kind as it was, made her feel, she did not know 
why, as if her life touched the unnatural. 

The voices ceased and she slept until dawn 
stole through the drawn curtains of her aunt's 
room. 

She got up and looked out of the window to be 
greeted by a brilliant, rain-washed sky. The 
storm had passed; but everywhere were evidences 
of its passing. Irregular windrows of fallen leaves 
lay washed up by the sweep of the water. The 
cottonwood tree, split in halves lay in ruin, and 
the water of the creek below came far up out of 
its banks, swirling along angry and brown. 

In the empty living room, the three chairs, 
drawn close to the fireplace, and the cold coffee 
pot made real last night's dream. A fire burned 
brightly in the fireplace and in the kitchen, the 


198 


The Closed Road 


kettle steamed boisterously. Was it possible Kate 
had returned? 

She looked into Kate’s room. It was empty 
and orderly; the cot with its patchwork quilt was 
untouched. She went back to the kitchen. At 
that moment she heard the gate open and Louie’s 
step on the flags. 

He came in with a cheerful smile. “ And how 
do we find you this morning? ” Coming to her 
he lifted her face and looked into her eyes. “ Serene 
as the morning. That’s good.” 

There was no offense in his touch. Crevola 
smiled. “ Where is Mr. Raleigh? ” 

“ Saddling up. Your uncle is here. He came 
in the night.” 

Her smile faded. She looked at him in piteous 
inquiry. 

“ He is all right. He will be in soon,” assured 
Louie. “ What can I do to help you? ” 


CHAPTER XIX 


In the stable, Raleigh saddled his black mare 
with every intention of getting away as soon as 
possible. He felt as if he intruded on the girl’s 
privacy. A terrible situation for a girl! His 
healthy nature shrank at it as from something 
unnatural. And too, he felt, however veiled, 
Louie Barbano’s hostility toward him. Well, he 
had no desire to get in his way; but he did feel 
sorry for the girl whether she were as innocent as 
she seemed or not. He felt sorry for any woman 
in Louie Barbano’s hands. He liked Louie well 
enough, every one did, but Lord! Who’d choose 
him for a guardian angel! 

What kind of an old fool was the uncle? Even 
Louie’s description of him did not picture to 
Raleigh a senility that could not have some under¬ 
standing of Louie Barbano’s interest in the girl. 
He jerked the latigo strap tight, adjusted the 
stirrup and led the mare out of the stable. At the 
house an old man slowly shambled up the walk. 
Evidently “ Uncle ” had decided to exchange his 
corner in the shed for the house. More embar¬ 
rassment for the girl. He hoped the old fellow was 
sober. He got on to his horse. Let Louie have all 
the pleasure this morning. He would come again 
and thank her for her hospitality. Poor girl! 


200 


The Closed Road 


Just as Crevola with Louie’s help finished setting 
breakfast on the table, the door opened, and Uncle 
Joe, stiff and weak, but sober, entered. He 
shuffled across the floor and held out his shaking 
hands to the warmth of the stove. 

“ Good morning, sir.” Louie placed him a 
chair and guided him into it. “ The fire feels good 
this morning.” 

The old man nodded vaguely and drew closer 
to the fire. 

Crevola stood at one side, her face as white as 
her apron. Her position struck her with a new 
shame. Louie could see it, and Mr. Raleigh too. 
She poured Aunt Rachel’s coffee, and carried it 
into the bedroom. 

She did not come back again. Louie gave the 
old man his breakfast, and went out to see what 
had become of Raleigh. 

In the stable, Gray Bell nosed hungrily at the 
straw in the manger; but Raleigh’s horse was 
gone. 

He swung the heavy saddle on Berold’s shining 
back, cinched it, and returned to the house. He 
wouldn’t go away without telling the old man a 
few things! Crevola was still absent; but Uncle 
Joe sat cowering by the fire. 

Louie went up to him and stood looking down on 
the sodden old creature whose knotted fingers 
reached out after the warmth. Some straws from 
the litter of the shed where he had spent the night 
clung to his white hair. 

A feeling of disgust mixed with angry pity went 


The Closed Road 


201 


over Louie. But he spoke cordially as he stretched 
out his own shapely hands toward the heat; 
meanwhile he endeavored for an opening to the 
subject uppermost in his mind. As he hesitated 
for words, the old man closed all approaches by 
falling asleep. His chin sank on his breast; his 
hands fell limply to his knees. 

A savage anger swept away all other feeling in 
Louie. He grasped the old man’s shoulder 
roughly. 

“ Eh? Eh? What? ” Joe Bronson struggled 
to waken. 

“ You had better go to bed, sir. You had better 
get off your damp clothes and get to bed,” he re¬ 
peated, feeling outwitted. One couldn’t talk to a 
man asleep. 

He watched the old man shamble out; and as 
the door closed he began pacing the room with 
the light, measured step of a captive panther, to 
the window where the wild coreopsis bloomed and 
back again, making a little detour each time to 
pass the breakfast table. 

When Crevola re-entered the kitchen he stood 
at the window looking out at the swollen creek 
below. At the sound of her step, he turned and 
crossed the room to meet her. 

“ What else can I do for you, Crevola? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Nothing at all? ” 

“ No. Thank you, Louie.” She was looking 
away from him so she did not see the irritated 
jerk of his head like a too tightly reined horse. 


202 


The Closed Road 


He waited a moment before he said: “ Then I 
must go. Will you walk to the gate with me? ” 

They went out together. The walk was strewn 
with leaves and branches, and shallow, clear pools 
of rain lay in the worn places of the flags. 

“ The rose bushes suffered,” said Crevola indi¬ 
cating the lacerated buds with a touch of her hand. 

“ How long are you going to stand this? ” he 
asked abruptly. 

“ I? Oh—” she shook her head slightly. 
“ God knows.” 

He drew an eager breath to speak; but as she 
turned her eyes dimmed with doubt and worry, 
toward him, he checked himself. 

“ May I not help in some way? ” 

“ You do help me a very great deal. I know of 
nothing more you can do.” 

“ There is more, and I will do it if you will let 
me. J ’ Her eyes stopped him again. He opened the 
gate but paused, loth to go; although he knew she 
wished him to do so. Yet still he lingered, un¬ 
willing to leave her; but she held out her hand. 
It was cold and fluttered in his as he took it in his 
warm clasp. 

“ Good-bye,” he said unsteadily; “ I will come 
again soon. Dear Crevola, dear, dear girl! ” He 
was gone, and Crevola did not watch him over the 
edge of the mesa. She sat down under the wind- 
flailed roses and buried her face in her hands for a 
long time. When at last she raised her head her 
eyes were dry with no trace of tears, but her face 
wore a look of tragedy. 



CHAPTER XX 


Kate came back the following day but one, 
coming in just at dusk as Crevola was giving Aunt 
Rachel her supper. She didn’t say anything. 
Unwinding the dark shawl from her head, she 
hung it on the back of the invalid’s chair and took 
the bowl from Crevola’s hand. “ I can do it,” she 
said briefly. 

“ Why, I didn’t hear you come, Kate! ” said 
Crevola relinquishing the bowl. “ Did you have 
a good journey? ” 

“ Your horse travels well,” Kate answered dig- 
nifiedly, readjusting Aunt Rachel’s head to her 
own liking. 

“ Did you get caught in the storm? ” 

“ No.” 

Chilled by her unresponsiveness, Crevola asked 
timidly, conscious that some sorrow lay behind 
the Navajo’s silence, “ Did you hear bad news? ” 

Kate bent her head low over Aunt Rachel. 
“ No,” she said again. 

Uncle Joe came in just then. When he saw 
Kate he drew himself up with a semblance of 
authority. “ So you have come back? It is 
time. I don’t want you to go away again and 
leave my wife.” 

She raised her head suddenly and gave him a 


204 


The Closed Itocid 


defiant look from her piercing eyes and wheeled 
the invalid into the bedroom. 

Somewhat crushed, Uncle Joe turned to Crevola. 
“ If you want some apples,” he said, “ there is a 
tree ripening down by the irrigating ditch.” 

Crevola took her pail the next day as evening 
drew near and went down to the apple tree that 
stood beyond the cedar grove. 

In the quiet evening, nature was getting ready 
for the night. The breeze died down; the water 
became still and dark. The quail were seeking 
their roosting places; the little gray coveys run¬ 
ning stealthily into the thick brush or lifting with 
soft whirring wings into the branches above. She 
slipped noiselessly by them into the grove. The 
wood was full of pungent autumn scents. She 
breathed deeply as she passed into the odorous 
shade and looked in through the dim aisles; far 
down to the rain-washed stone where Cousin 
Ralph had lain so long. She visualized two other 
mounds beside his, and restless loneliness took 
possession of her. The memory of the night of 
the storm returned. She recalled young Raleigh’s 
ruddy face and his strange glances. In distress she 
felt again that her life was unnatural. 

Then swift the memory of Louie’s face and voice, 
and his close-shut arms about her caught her and 
would not let her go. It threw her thoughts into 
vague confusion, for concerning Louie there was 
no place to pin securely a thread of thought. 

The apple tree came in sight just beyond the 
grove, leaning over the irrigating ditch, the round 


The Closed Road 


205 


green globes gleaming out from among the leaves. 
In the quiet eddies of the water had stopped, here 
and there, a fallen apple, all along the way until 
she reached the tree and looked up to where the 
fruit hung above her head. As she paused one 
fell into the water with a jocund “ pollunk.” 

She picked it out of the water and set her teeth 
in it. Making a pleasant crunching in the crisp 
flesh, she sat down on the bank and thought again 
how strangely her life seemed to be pushed into 
unfamiliar paths down which she could not see. 

She had no experience of life to give her a clue 
to what might lie along those dim ways. What 
part in her life had these two men? The young 
Ranger was so simple and kind; and Louie — 
Louie — All her thoughts turned to confusion 
again. She dared not recall, yet could not banish 
from her memory the unfamiliar clasp of his en¬ 
circling arms, the passion in his voice, his look, 
the quiver of his mouth. 

With a shake of her head she tried to sweep her 
mind free. Aunt Rachel's bedside seemed the 
only tangible thing in life. Her head went down 
on her knees: some day there would be three 
graves in the cedar grove and what then? As 
Louie had said: what would she do? Crevolawas 
young, and the thought that one of these graves 
might be hers did not enter her head. 

A rustle in the fallen leaves made her look up. 
“ Louie! I did not see you come." 

He came to her swiftly, bare headed, his hands 
outstretched. He took her hands and bent for- 


206 


The Closed Road 


ward as if to kiss her; but drew back, a dark red 
across his olive cheek, and pressed her hands 
warmly before he let them go. 

“ Why are you sitting here alone, Crevola? ” 

She pointed to her pail. “ I came to get apples. ” 

“ Let me get them for you.” He filled the pail 
quickly, all the time talking restlessly of Crevola 
herself, of Aunt Rachel, of Raleigh, the loneliness 
of the cedars, of the apples at the Ranch house, of 
Raleigh again. But he did not seem to hear 
when she told him that Kate had returned more 
sad and silent than ever. Instead he asked if 
she had seen Raleigh since the night of the storm. 

“ No; he has not been here.” 

He set the filled pail on the ground. His eyes 
shone brightly, and his thin nostrils spread like 
Berold’s when he was keen to be off. 

“ Come, let us walk. Where did you meet 
Raleigh? ” 

“ I? ” She let him help her to her feet. “ I 
never saw him before the other night.” 

“ Oh! I understood that you had met before.” 
He did not look satisfied. He walked beside her 
still with that look on his face of wanting to break 
free. The tall cedars rose on either side, the path 
ran crookedly through, worn by the feet of cattle 
coming down to drink. 

“ Crevola,” he stopped and faced her. “ Have 
you any idea why I come here? ” 

She lifted vague, troubled eyes, but she made 
no answer. 

“ Don’t you know? Can’t you see? You do 


The Closed Road 


207 


know, you must. You must know. Because I 
love you. Don’t look at me like that, dear.” He 
held out his strong, shapely hand. “ Put your 
hand in mine.” 

She made no move to do so. She looked at him 
with fascinated eyes that held almost a look of 
fear. 

“ Why not? You are not afraid? You were 
not so the other night. Come.” 

His voice compelled her. Reluctantly she laid 
her hard little palm in his. His warm fingers 
closed over hers. He drew her close to him and 
kissed her mouth. 

She recoiled from him. “ Let me go, Louie,” 
she cried. “ Let me go! ” 

He made no effort to hold her, but his look of 
mute entreaty kept her at his side. Her hand still 
remained in his, and his emotion swept over him 
in a compelling tide. 

“ I love you, Crevola! Oh, God! You don’t 
know how much. I will say it now; I must! ” 
The clasp of his strong fingers hurt her, and she 
cried out in pain. 

He opened her hand and smoothed her crushed 
fingers contritely. “ That I should hurt you! 
When I would gladly take to myself all the pain 
of the world that it might never touch you. You 
understand that don’t you, Crevola? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered very low. 

“ Do you love me? Tell me.” 

“ Yes.” The word was wrung from her white 
lips. 


208 


The Closed Road 


“ Then don’t look so distressed, dear,” he said 
almost lightly, starting slowly on again down the 
path. “ Why shouldn’t we love each other? I 
am an unhappy man, and you have created a 
wonderful part in my empty life. I have found 
you lonely and unprotected, and have helped you 
somewhat, receiving much more in return. Our 
common need has brought us together and filled 
the void in our lives. Is it strange or unnatural 
that we should love each other? And now that I 
know how hard your life is, I want to help you 
more. 

“ Crevola, how could you remain so long un¬ 
discovered? But you have been found; and now 
men will not pass you by. You are worse than 
alone and I can’t leave you here to be trampled on 
— perhaps by wild beasts. I’m going to take you 
away from here where you will be safe and happy.” 

Reassured by his look and tone, the pallor of 
her face tinged again to pink. “ I am safe enough 
now. Kate is with me. I’m not afraid.” 

“ That will not do now; Kate may go away 
again. One can’t wholly trust the Indian.” 

“ Yes, that is true. But where would you 
take me? ” 

“ Anywhere you care to go. The world is big. 
There are many places; all beautiful, all new to 
you. Don’t you want to see them? ” 

“ Yes,” she said again slowly; “ that would be 
wonderful. But I can’t understand. I know you 
wish to help me; but how could I leave Aunt? ” 

His face clouded. “ Kate will care for her.” 



The Closed Road 


209 


“ But if Kate should go and leave her? What 
would she do? ” 

“ I know what to give Kate to keep her satisfied. 
She would not go.” 

She raised her perplexed eyes to his. “ Then 
why not give it to her now, and be sure that she 
stays with me? ” 

“ Oh! Because that isn’t what I want for you. 
I want to make you happy; to make your life 
bright and gay as it should be, instead of this dull, 
drab existence day after day. Let me do it for 
you, Crevola, I can. I want you to be happy; 
that is your right.” 

The perplexed fold between her eyes deepened. 
“ I couldn’t leave Aunt for my own happiness.” 

“ Then come for mine. I love you! I want 
you for my own sake,” he urged passionately. 
“ You can make my life happier than anything 
we have ever dreamed. We will go everywhere, 
do everything. I will make your happiness match 
mine. I will give you everything money can buy; 
everything you can think to want. Come, 
Crevola! ” 

He caught her hands pleading earnestly. “ You 
shall be the happiest woman in the whole world. 
I will make you so if you will come away with 
me.” 

She stood still, a mute white ghost in the mellow 
light of the cedar grove, regarding him with un¬ 
comprehending eyes. His passion dazed her, 
dulled her understanding. Back in her brain lay 
the memory of Kate’s words: “ You know Louie 


210 The Closed Road 

Barbano? He not good mans. You know his 
wife? ” 

“ Do you mean that I should go to the Ranch 
house to live? ” she said at last. “ No, no! Your 
wife might not care for me.” 

“ Good God, no! ” he burst forth. He caught 
himself. “You wouldn’t like the Ranch house,” 
he went on more quietly; “it is too lonely there. 
You would want gayety, life, light. We would 
have that together.” He bent over her hands and 
kissed them passionately. 

He did not see the change that came over her 
face. She did not withdraw her hands; but they 
grew rigid in his clasp. Then she spoke slowly 
with her old direct gaze, and her voice vibrated 
like the whir of a fine steel spring. 

“ Do you mean that you want me to come and 
pretend to be your wife — and you have a living 
wife? ” 

The hot red blood dashed over his pale olive 
cheek. He stood erect and faced her with a 
straight look. 

“You are my wife,” he said hotly; “ I have no 
other. She whom you choose to call my wife was 
merely married to me by the priest. The priest’s 
words do not make marriage. It is made by love 
and love alone, such love as I have for you and you 
for me. If love is here nothing else is needed; if 
it is not, all other bonds are null. Listen, Crevola 
— don’t look so strange, dear — do the wild 
things of the wood depend on the ring and prayer 


The Closed Road 


211 


book? Does Berold seek a priest’s blessing when 
he chooses his mate? ” 

Still she did not answer. She stood erect as 
one of the great cedars while his passion beat 
about her. When he paused she slowly recoiled 
from him, with a stricken look in her eyes, defi¬ 
nitely drawing her hands from his clasp. 

Throwing back his head haughtily, he followed 
her. “ There are many things in the world, 
Crevola, of which you would not approve because 
you do not understand them. I could make you 
a thousand arguments, I could give you a thousand 
reasons why you should come to me, for men and 
women should make their own laws at a supreme 
crisis; but it is useless. The one great reason 
your heart knows is too high to need support from 
the low earth. I love you as God meant man to 
love woman; and you love me as woman was 
created to love man. Deny it, Crevola, and I will 
leave you. Deny it, dear, if you can — or will! ” 

She bent under the pressure of his will, still 
dumb with piteous eyes and quivering lips, unable 
to make the denial that he challenged. Then of 
a sudden her control broke and she burst into 
tumultuous weeping. 

“ Crevola, dear! Dear one! ” Louie was no 
stranger to woman’s tears. He put his arms about 
her, he smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead 
and called her endearing names. In vain! She 
wept and wept uncontrollably. He could not 
quiet the storm that broke over her awakened soul. 

Finally he picked her up and carried her back to 


212 


The Closed Road 


the water’s edge, and set her down among the 
fallen leaves. He wet his handkerchief in the cool 
water and bathed her face and hands until her sobs 
quieted into convulsive sighs. 

He sat beside her supporting her with his arm, 
his face a curious mixture of determination and 
defeat. He did not try to speak to her until her 
self control became evident; then he said: 

“ Don’t cry like that again, dear; you frighten 
me to death. I will not harm you.” 

She turned her head. “ I — wish to get up.” 

He lifted her to her feet. “ Crevola,” he began 
tensely; but she stopped him and drew away from 
his embrace. 

“ You may go now,” she said in a hard voice. 
“ No! Don’t say any more. It is finished now. 
We are through with each other.” 

“ No, no! ” he cried, dismayed. “ Don’t say that, 
Crevola! ” 

“ Hush! I heard all that you said, though per¬ 
haps I didn’t seem to. I’m not going to deny 
any part of it because it is all true; you have been 
my whole world.” 

He sprang forward with glowing face; but she 
held him back with a lifted palm. 

“It is also true that I don’t know what the 
world does; I don’t know what other men and 
women do. I only know—” Her voice failed 
for an instant, but she steadied it and went on with 
a keen-edged intensity that cut him to the soul; 
“ I only know that I shall never feel clean again.” 

“ Crevola! ” he cried poignantly from the dis- 


The Closed Road 


213 


tance where she held him; “ You don’t under¬ 
stand —” 

“ No; I shall never understand your way of 
thinking, or your conception of love. But I know 
that I shall never walk under these cedars again 
without remembering the shame you have put 
upon me. And when I hear them whispering 
together, I shall know that they are thinking of 
my shame.” 

“ Oh, God, Crevola! ” He slid down on his 
knees and buried his face in the folds of her dress. 
Her voice, her words stripped him leaving him, he 
felt, stark and loathsome in her sight. It left him 
no chance to offer again the excuse of his great 
love; no chance to clear himself in any way. 

“ Get up, Louie! ” she said quietly. But he did 
not seem to hear; he knelt there at her feet motion¬ 
less and silent until Berold’s shrill neighing came 
through the cedars. 

He looked up then into her face. It was cold 
and strong with all the young gladness gone out; 
all the vital sympathy that had made it bloom like 
a wild cactus. It gave him again the old feeling 
of the unscalable cliff. He had no words. Every¬ 
thing had been said and a door had shut between 
them. He took both her hands and kissed 
them. 

They fell listlessly at her sides as he released 
them. 

Not daring to look into her face again, he rose 
and went blindly to where the tethered stallion 
dug into the soft loam with impatient feet. And 


214 


The Closed Road 


soon Crevola saw their dim shape pass through a 
gap in the darkening cedars. 

Berold bore himself like the king he was; but 
Louie Barbano's head was bent forward on his 
breast. 


CHAPTER XXI 


Crevola did not move from her place, but 
through the dusk she watched them go with no 
premonition of what the parting meant to her. 
She only felt glad that she had not failed at a 
critical moment; that all of Louie’s reasonings, all 
his passionate declarations had not loosened one 
screw in the machinery of her faith in herself, and 
her fixed desire to do right. 

She went back to the apple tree and got her 
pail. It was almost dark. Two tardy apples had 
floated down against the ditch bank and lay there, 
white circles in the black water. She went on to 
the house. Her uncle sat in the kitchen dozing, 
his hands folded before him, his gray head bent. 
Kate stirred around in the kitchen putting supper 
on the table. She looked up with narrowing eyes 
when Crevola came in and set the apples on the 
shelf, but Uncle Joe did not move until the girl 
laid her hand on his shoulder and said: “ Supper is 
ready.” 

He got up stiffly and came to the table. “ Did 
you find the apple tree? ” 

“ Yes, Uncle.” Crevola poured out his tea and 
passed it. 

“ Didn’t I see Barbano? Why didn’t he stay 
to supper? ” 


216 


The Closed Road 


“ He said — he couldn’t/’ replied Crevola in a 
low voice. 

“ Eh? ” demanded Uncle Joe with his hand to 
his ear. 

“ He — couldn’t,” repeated Crevola, her white 
cheeks burning red under Kate’s sidelong glance. 

Uncle Joe applied himself to his supper and no 
more was said during the meal. 

When it was finished, Crevola silently helped 
Kate wash the dishes and then she went up to her 
bed. After a long while she slept. 

It did not take many evenings like this with 
days to match to teach Crevola what the real 
meaning of Louie’s absence was to her. She had 
no one to talk to. The Ranger came once, but 
they did not get on well. Crevola could think of 
nothing to say, and he, chilled by her silence, 
found conversation more and more difficult. 
Both were relieved when he went away. 

The days following were more barren than her 
life had ever been. Her sensibilities quickened to 
keener life, suffered the equal reaction. She tried 
to fill in the days with homely duties. She tried 
to forget Louie; but at every turn evidences of his 
influence on her life cried aloud for her to re¬ 
member, and to remember that he loved her and 
had gone away crushed and broken. 

She wanted to rid herself of these reminders, as 
far as possible. She collected his gifts, letters and 
every tangible thing and put them away in a box 
upstairs, until she could find some way to return 
them to him. The rifle she laid on top of the box; 


The Closed Road 


217 


the Victrola and the record cabinet, she locked. 
She turned the “ Corn Girl ” loose on the mesa. 
She knew she would go home because Louie had 
cautioned her never to let the filly run loose or 
she would go home. She cried for days afterward 
whenever she thought of her little mare who had 
carried her so often and so far across the mesa 
stretches. 

But though Crevola tried to thrust it all from her 
mind as she had put the gifts out of sight, she did 
not flay herself with angry thoughts toward Louie. 
She never doubted the sincerity of his love; for 
why had he brought so much into her life if he had 
not loved her? And why, she reasoned, if he did 
not love her, did he desire her at all? But she did 
think much and seriously of her attitude toward 
him; wondering if there were something lacking 
in herself that she could not see love as the para¬ 
mount thing as Louie did. 

Uncle Joe missed the filly and asked about her. 
He looked at Crevola rather closely when she said 
that she had sent her home. But he did not ask 
any more questions. He was too old to bother 
himself about lover’s quarrels; no doubt they 
would make it up. He had other worries, for with 
the coming of the winter season, Aunt Rachel 
failed more rapidly. Crevola spent much of her 
time at her aunt’s bedside. The house supplies 
began to get low so he was obliged to go to Camp 
Verde for more. 

“ You will not let anything keep you from 
coming home early? ” Crevola said anxiously as 


218 


The Closed Road 


he threw the saddle on Gray Bell and tightened 
the cinch. 

“ No. I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he prom¬ 
ised. And she went back into the house with a 
feeling of security. 

Later in the day Gonzales came by. At the 
tinkle of Pepita’s bell Crevola ran out to meet 
him. As she came out he looked up from filling 
his canteen at the well, and smiled his crooked 
smile. 

“ Can I bring something from the camp, Seno- 
rita? ” 

“ Uncle has just gone, thank you, Gonzales; 
but I brought you some cookies to eat with your 
coffee. She handed him the brown paper bag. 

He took it. “ Senorita,” he looked at her in¬ 
tently. “ Do you know where ees ze Senor Louie? ” 

She met him with truthful glance, “ I do not.” 

His beady old eyes softened as he turned to put 
the parcel in his saddle bag. “ The Blessed 
Mother watch over you, Senorita! I will soak 
zees in my coffee tomorrow.” 

Crevola went back to Aunt Rachel’s room 
though Kate sat there silent and attentive. 
From the window she saw the little mouse colored 
donkey enter in between the white boles of the 
aspens, and reappear again on the slope beyond 
and vanish at the edge of the mesa. 

The old feeling that over the rim was a sheer 
drop came back to her. In fancy she could see the 
burro’s desperate plunges that set the bell tongue 
clapping. She could see Gonzales’ peaked hat, 


The Closed Road 


219 


his red sash, his saddle bags and canteen all flying 
on the air. She imagined Gonzales’ hoarse whis¬ 
pered cry of terror and the frantic tongue of the 
bell silenced by the swift descent. Over and over 
again she saw them plunge into unfathomable 
space. Louie too, had gone over the edge. The 
great red stallion went over with a terrible scream. 
Louie sat in the saddle, but he did not even raise 
his head from his breast. 

A violent fit of coughing from Aunt Rachel 
brought her back with a start. She raised her 
aunt’s head, and held her up until the paroxysm 
passed, and the head fell heavily back. 

“ You stay in too close,” said Kate. “ Go out¬ 
side. I sit here.” 

Crevola went without protest. Opposition an¬ 
noyed Kate. She did not care to go; there 
was nothing outside. It was dark and damp. 
Through the window she could see the bare cot¬ 
tonwood limbs stretch up to the gray sky, that was 
heavy with stored rain. A hawk sat on a high 
branch looking down to the earth. 

She started to get her uncle’s gun to shoot it; 
but warned perhaps, by some prescience of evil, 
the hawk flew out across the quaking aspens, 
farther and farther until he vanished in the gray 
far above the mesa rim. 

Her soul reached out following his flight, out 
across the mesa stretches into the blue beyond the 
gray. But her feet could not follow; they re¬ 
mained planted on the Navajo rug at the foot of 
the staircase. 


220 


The Closed Road 


Then a longing for music came over her like a 
physical hunger. She unlocked the long silent 
Yictrola and the record cabinet. She selected a 
record, put it in place and adjusted the needle. 

But before a strain of music sounded, reaction 
came; she replaced the disc in the cabinet and 
turned both keys. This was a part of Louie, and 
between herself and him and all that concerned 
him there stretched an abyss as wide as the track 
of the sun, and as unfathomable as God’s plans. 

Then she thought of her uncle. In the morn¬ 
ing sense of security she had almost forgotten his 
absence; but now it came back to her with a 
feeling of distrust which deepened as she did up 
the evening work. 

As the sun set, the clouds piled up into high 
billows and turned rosy gold against the clear blue 
beyond. Crevola called Kate out to see them; 
but the Navajo only nodded. “ You should see 
the sunsets in the North, and at the Reservation.” 
Her eyes brightened as at some tender memory, 
and her face shone; then it grew cold and hard. 
She went sullenly into the house, leaving Crevola 
chilled and lonely. 

Just as they finished supper they heard Gray 
Bell nicker. Crevola ran outside. She met her 
uncle at the gate just lifting down his saddle bags. 
He turned to her. His voice was clear though 
anxious, “ How is Rachel? ” he asked. “ Bell 
picked up a nail in her left fore foot or I would 
have been home long ago.” 

Crevola took the heavy bags. “ The poor 


The Closed Road 


221 


thing! And you must be tired, Uncle. Hurry in 
while supper is warm. Fll feed Bell.” 

When bedtime came Kate said: “ I will sit by 
her. You rest.” 

“ No, Kate. I would rather stay by her for a 
while. I’m not tired.” 

She sat by her aunt’s bed for a long time. There 
was nothing to do except sit there and listen to her 
hoarse breathing, for she slept heavily. 

Uncle Joe came in and bent over the bed. He 
called gently, “ Rachel.” 

Crevola, watching, thought she saw a faint 
flicker pass over the still face but it went instantly. 

The old man hung over the bed for a time, but 
Aunt Rachel made no sign. He went aimlessly 
around the room; then he got a chair and sat down 
by the bed, his knees touching the patchwork quilt. 

“ Do you think she is any better, Crevola? ” 
The tears welled up in the dim old eyes. 

Crevola nodded. “ She is sleeping soundly to¬ 
night. I think she will feel better in the morning.” 
She put her hand on his shoulder. “ I think you 
had better go to bed,” she said very gently. “ I’ll 
call you if you can do anything for her.” 

He shook his gray head sorrowfully and went 
out into his room adjoining. It was not long until 
Crevola heard his breath coming as that of one 
who sleeps. 

After several hours she got up noiselessly and 
slipped out. She stopped at Kate’s half open 
door. All was dark and silent in the room, too 
still and quiet for sleep. Although she felt that 


222 


The Closed Road 


the Navajo woman lay huddled on her cot as wake¬ 
ful as herself, she spoke: 

“ Kate, are you awake? ” 

With a little stir Kate was at the door. 

“ I am going upstairs now/’ said Crevola. “ I 
think she will sleep well. She hasn’t coughed 
once. Call me if you need me. Good night, 
Kate.” 

She climbed the stairs to her own room, the 
steps creaking under her tread; but she did not 
notice it. In her own room she pulled the cur¬ 
tains close, shutting herself in from the night, and 
hastened with her undressing. She blew out the 
light and crept in between the cold sheets, drawing 
the covers up around her ears. 

Her body relaxed, but her mind grew tense and 
unmanageable. It traveled far, around a wide 
range, but it always came back in narrowing 
circles to Gonzales, dropped over the edge of the 
mesa, and where Louie had plunged from sight. 

The clock downstairs struck twelve and then 
the half hour, and one, and half past one. Unable 
to endure it longer, she got up and dressed, put on 
a thick, dark cloak and wrapped a scarf around 
her head. 

She opened the door and stepped out. Her 
ears rang in the darkness and the deep silence of 
the narrow stairway. As she went down, the 
sharp creak of the boards jarred through her 
overwrought nerves. She paused listening, every 
faculty alert, and the silence pressed upon her. 
She stepped still more carefully as she neared the 


The Closed Road 


223 


foot, not wanting Kate’s quick ear to hear. As 
she stepped off the last stair on to the thick 
Navajo rug at the foot, she drew in her breath 
sharply and slipped noiselessly across to the door 
and felt for the knob. 

As she softly turned it, a hoarse, animal-like 
jabbering sent a thrill of horror up her spine. The 
knob turned back with a sharp click. The blood 
throbbed in her ears. But it was only Aunt 
Rachel talking in her sleep. Kate stirred in her 
room. Crevola opened the door hastily, stepped 
outside and closed it after her. 

Outside the night lost much of its terror. The 
soft rushing of the wind through the tree tops 
drowned the ringing in her ears. The cool night 
air quickened her mind to sanity. The water 
rippling faintly below, and an insect chirping sharp 
and clear made the night less unreal. 

She looked up beyond the black tree tops. The 
stars were dim and very far away. One remaining 
mass of gray cloud spread darkly across the sky. 
As she stood with face upturned, one long bright 
zig-zag streak of lightning passed, a stream of fire 
plunging athwart the billowy mass of cloud. 

She went down the walk no clear purpose in her 
mind, except to stop, if she could, Gonzales’ oft 
repeated plunge over the rim of the mesa. Per¬ 
haps if she went up there the fancy might be 
dispelled. She passed the plum tree and the 
stretch of road between it and the aspen grove. 
A cow lowed suddenly from the corral and her calf 
answered. The sound did not startle Crevola 


224 


The Closed Road 


now. She entered the dark shadows of the grove 
without fear. 

The wood rustled with many animate sounds. 
The night, so lonely in the house, was peopled in 
the grove like a city. Things rustled and chirped 
in the grass at her feet, in the low bushes about 
her, and in the shivering leaves above her head. 

She liked it. It meant, perhaps, that all the 
little wood dwellers were safe and comfortable in 
their homes. She laid her cheek against the 
smooth white bark of a tree and listened. The 
soft rustling and chirping went on. It soothed her 
until she smiled in the darkness, picturing to her¬ 
self the tiny nature people to whom just then she 
felt akin. 

Then a new sound disturbed the night. It 
struck on her ears and sent the blood pounding 
through her body. It came faintly, far off, yet 
unmistakable, the long, passionate cry of a stal¬ 
lion. And it came from the mesa. 

She leaned forward clasping her hands together 
tightly, straining her eyes up the shadowy road. 
She could see nothing. Again her ears rang and 
the ringing drowned the voices of the night. She 
strained every faculty to see and hear until she 
began to feel dizzy. Then she heard the ring of 
an iron shoe against a rock; then nearer and nearer 
came the rhythmic footfalls of a horse’s hoofs 
swinging down the slope. 

She shrank into the shelter of a juniper bush. 
She recognized that peculiar proud step. It was 
Berold. Her throat beat fast. Who rode him? 














The Closed Road 


225 


She strained her eyes again. A dark shape ap¬ 
proached slowly, stopped not ten feet from her 
and Berold threw up his head. 

She heard the quick jangle of bridle chains as 
the rider checked the stallion’s cry. Then a 
lightning flash lighted all the place about, and 
she saw as on a screen, Berold standing with his 
head upraised, and Louie in the saddle erect and 
silent. His face full of longing was turned toward 
the house. 

It was but for an instant. The ensuing darkness 
blotted out the figures. Stiff and silent, she 
shrank back closer to her shelter, her hands pressed 
tightly to her throat trying to stifle its tumultuous 
beating. Then her eyes growing accustomed once 
more to the darkness made them out again. She 
could see as well as hear Berold’s restlessness. 
She saw Louie turn his head to the right and to the 
left; he turned half way around in his saddle. He 
spoke. His voice was low, doubting, as one speak¬ 
ing into an empty room. 

“ Crevola.” 

Her body jerked at the sound, but she did not 
answer. 

“ Crevola,” he said again more clearly, “ are 
you here? ” 

She pressed her hands over her mouth for fear 
she would cry out against her will. He kept still 
to listen. He would hear a whisper, a sigh. If 
she only dared to speak, to answer him! Never 
was his voice so sad. She pressed her hands more 
tightly against her lips, not daring to speak. She 


226 


The Closed Road 


must not! From her heart went up a passionate 
appeal that the ache in her throat might not find 
relief in a sob. 

Then Louie spoke again and the bad moment 
was past. He bent over Berold’s neck. “ You 
see she is not here, old fellow,” he said in a low 
voice; “ I thought I felt her presence too; but we 
were mistaken. She is sleeping safe and quiet 
and we won’t disturb her. We’re going to stay 
but a minute,” he went on; “ so stand still. 
You’re restless as a night owl.” 

Crevola shrinking back in the darkness kept 
herself from crying out, “ I am here, Louie! I am 
here! ” But the minutes passed and she knew 
that she would not speak. She knew that pres¬ 
ently he would turn and climb the slope and per¬ 
haps she would never see him again or hear his 
voice. 

Again the terrible ache clutched her throat and 
the longing came uppermost to speak and tell 
him she was there. He had come these long miles. 
Would he stand so near and hear her call his name 
and not answer? She knew he would not. Oh, 
why must she not speak? Why couldn’t she 
answer his call and comfort him as best she 
might? For what else had she risen in the night 
and braved the dark shadows of the grove? She 
would speak. She must! 

Taking a step forward, her lips opened. She 
thought that she spoke, but there was no sound. 

Louie did not move; but in a moment he spoke. 


The Closed Road 


227 


She shrank back terrified, trembling in the 
darkness. 

He spoke, he said her name; but he was not 
speaking to her. He was putting her into the 
hands of the Blessed Mother. 

It stilled her. She stood listening to his low, 
quiet voice and peace came to her. She felt that 
he did not need to see her face; that he had not 
come with any intention or hope of seeing her. 
She kept very still and waited until he ceased 
speaking; until he turned Berold and rode slowly 
back up the slope. 

She did not know how she got back to her bed. 
Her first real impression was the chill of cold 
sheets that gradually grew warmer. Then she 
knew nothing until the sun shone in and wakened 
her. 


CHAPTER XXII 


This brief vision of Louie threw Crevola’s mind 
into confusion again. It quickened all her long¬ 
ings for his actual presence and intensified her 
loneliness; and filled her with terror that he had 
gone out of her life not to return. Yet she dared 
not wish him back. She was certainly right and he 
was wrong. If she only had someone to talk to, 
who would understand! Someone who would 
understand her side and his too, perhaps. 

She thought of Father Gregory. Louie had told 
her so much about the good old priest and how he 
had always helped him in his troubles. If she 
could only see him. But Ashfork was a long way 
off. Perhaps he would not want to come to see 
her; perhaps he could not. If she could only go 
to see him. Would Uncle Joe take her? 

At supper one evening she gathered her courage 
to ask him. 

“ Eh? What do you want to go there for? ” 

“ I want to see —” 

“ It’s not much of a place, child,” he inter¬ 
rupted; “ It’s a long way and you would get 
tired.” 

“ I could rest,” said Crevola, buttering her bread 
intently. It was not easy to insist. 

Uncle Joe looked annoyed. Then he said with 
suspicious alacrity: “ All right, we’ll try it some 
day.” 


The Closed Road 


229 


“ Soon? ” 

“ When I get time. Have you any more tea 
there? ” He passed up his cup and Crevola filled 
it silently. Her tears were very near, for she 
knew by his manner he would never think of it 
again. It was his way of silencing her. 

But she did not intend to give up. She re¬ 
minded him from time to time; but he always put 
her off with an excuse. Growing impatient she 
thought of Gonzales. It was nearly time for him 
to change his sheep range to the north. Perhaps 
he would let her go with him. She could ride 
Gray Bell. She would not be any trouble, and 
she could help him drive the sheep. Anyway it 
would do no harm to ask. 

She waited until a morning when she heard the 
many-keyed bleating of the sheep, and at intervals 
the thin tinkle of the mule’s bell. Trembling with 
excitement, she ran out to the well to meet the 
Mexican. 

Gonzales smiled to see her young face, and asked 
whether her lamb were shut up. It might follow 
the sheep. The lamb was safe in the orchard, she 
said; it could not get out. Then she told him 
what she wanted. 

He could not understand at first, and when he 
did he shook his head until the great hoops swung 
in his ears. 

“ No, no! Senorita. Eet ees not trip for ze 
ladies. It take two, tree day, and zare ees no 
house. Jesu, no! ” 

Picking up his canteen hastily, he mounted his 


280 


‘ The Closed Road 


mule and called the dogs to hurry the sheep on. 
He gave her no chance for persuasion. 

The tears of disappointment ran down Crevola’s 
cheeks as she watched him lean over his mule’s 
withers urging it down the road, and the dogs 
pushing the silly sheep into frightened bunches. 

Her lips closed determinedly; she wiped her 
eyes, and after a moment’s hesitation, she turned 
about and went out to where her uncle was 
chopping wood from the fallen cottonwood tree. 

“ Uncle Joe,” she began decidedly; “ You said 
that you would take me to Ashfork. I want to 
go, and I want to go right now.” 

Her manner startled him. He rested his axe 
and rubbed his hand up and down perplexedly 
over his wrinkled forehead. “ I wish, Crevola,” he 
said pathetically, “ that your aunt was well and 
able to be up and around to ’tend to things.” 

“ I wish so too, Uncle. I wish so daily; but we 
can’t hope for that now.” 

“ What do you want to go there for? It isn’t 
any kind of a place.” 

She returned his look with a direct gaze from her 
clear eyes. 

“ I want to see Father Gregory,” she said. 

He dropped his gaze from hers. “ I remember 
Father Gregory,” he said. “ He is a good man if 
he is a priest. I’ve known him a long time.” He 
did not ask any more questions, for he thought 
that she sought reconciliation with Louie. “I — 
I believe I’d wait a while,” he said clumsily. 
“ Things will come right maybe.” 


The Closed Road 


231 


“ I’ve waited too long already — I’m tired of 
waiting.” 

He sighed. He picked up his axe and adjusted 
his stick for splitting, turning it over carefully 
this way and that. At last he said: “ All right. 
Get ready; and if your aunt isn’t any worse, 
we’ll go tomorrow.” 

Surprise as well as gratitude filled her eyes with 
tears; but she only said diffidently as she turned 
away: “ Thank you, Uncle.” 

The getting ready was simple. They each had 
an extra blanket behind the saddle. There was a 
canteen of water and one of cold coffee, with 
cooked bread and meat to last several days. 
Added to these was Crevola’s meager toilet equip¬ 
ment and a little grain for the horses. 

Late stars were still shining in the pale blue of 
the early sky when they started. They traveled 
slowly, and noon found them still clinging to the 
white road that wound its way around the rain- 
washed gullies of the mesa. 

A branch road disconcerted Uncle Joe. He 
reined in his horse and pondered, then decided for 
the right fork and they went on covering the slow 
miles. The road led them far out of their direc¬ 
tion, and when Uncle Joe discovered his mistake, 
he said they would cut across the mesa and come 
into the main road again. But the day was 
going fast; and as the sun went down they entered 
a little green place where a deserted log cabin 
stood. 

“ I think we had better stay here tonight,” said 


232 


The Closed Road 


Uncle Joe. “ It will be too dark to hunt for the 
road.” 

Crevola was not sorry to stop. “ There must 
be a spring here,” she said, easing her cramped 
muscles out of the saddle. She was tired and stiff; 
but when the horses were unsaddled and fed, and 
she had inspected the cabin, she felt better. The 
roof had fallen in at one side and grass grew in 
the dirt floor. In one wall was a fireplace built of 
sticks and the hard sand of the mesa. 

Uncle Joe brought some dry mesquite branches 
and soon had the flames roaring pleasantly up the 
old chimney, lighting the cabin cheerily. 

It was an adventure to Crevola. She warmed 
the coffee and toasted the bread at the end of a 
long stick as Uncle Joe showed her; and they had 
a cosy time eating supper at the fire. Uncle Joe 
grew quite companionable and told her stories of 
long ago of bivouacs on the plains. Then they 
went out together and brought in a pile of wood 
to keep a fire during the night. 

Crevola made her bed in front of the fire feeling 
sure she would be afraid to go to sleep, but she 
closed her eyes and knew no more until Uncle Joe 
called her to get up and drink her coffee. In half 
an hour they were on their way again; and about 
mid forenoon they reached the main road again 
and fell in behind Gonzales and the sheep. 

Gonzales was much surprised to see them. He 
whipped up his mule and came to meet them. 
He explained with a few words and many gestures 
the way they should have taken. 


The Closed Road 


233 


“ I think that we had better stay with Gon¬ 
zales,” decided Uncle Joe. “ We might get lost 
again. I don’t find my way as I used to.” 

Crevola assented, although unused to long hours 
of riding, her muscles cramped and stiffened in the 
saddle. She was glad when sundown came again 
and they stopped to camp for the night. The 
tired sheep lay about in groups and twos and 
threes and singles. The horses munched their 
grain in company with the gray mule and the sheep 
dogs kept close to the campfire. 

Crevola, too, lay on the ground against one of 
the saddles while Gonzales got supper, the while 
he talked to Uncle Joe in his hoarse, difficult 
whisper. One of the dogs came and stuck his 
nose under her arm, and when she petted him he 
lay down beside her. 

She was asleep when Gonzales called her to 
supper. She started up, rubbing her eyes. Gon¬ 
zales set a tin cup of coffee and a steaming plate 
of frijoles on the ground beside her, and the smell 
of garlic rose to her nostrils. 

“ Eat, Senorita,” said the greasy old Mexican, 
smiling his villainous smile; “ you ees tire.” 

The eyes were kind above the smile so she made 
out to eat, although the beans were burning hot 
with chillies, and the coffee black and bitter. 
Yet the charm of adventure, the long gray shadows 
stealing over the mesa to her feet, the stars coming 
out in the blue above appealed to her imagination 
and soothed her weariness. 

After supper she spread her bed and called the 


234 


The Closed Road 


dog closer for company. With him beside her, 
she cuddled under her blanket and listened to the 
men’s voices until she lost them and slept heavily 
through the strange, starry night. 

They left Gonzales next morning. They were 
near Ashfork. The little town came into view 
from a long way across the plain, and Crevola 
began to fear that Father Gregory might not be at 
home. But when they reached his door, the old 
priest himself bade them in. 

Uncle Joe did not make himself known to his 
friend of former years, but he felt satisfied to leave 
Crevola in his care, saying that he would take 
the horses to a stable and find a place to rest. 
After a time he would come for her. 

Crevola’s gathering nervousness showed in her 
face as she watched him go. But the Father bade 
her come in, so her fears vanished as she heard 
his gentle voice and felt the warm clasp of his 
hand. 

He drew her into a neat, plain living room. 
Then everything began to be very confused, and 
she could not speak for crying. Her tired knees 
hardly supported her. 

“ Ah! Ah! The poor child! ” He guided her to 
the couch and called: 

“ Maggie! ” 

A young Indian woman came quickly. She 
made Crevola lie down and brought her something 
hot to drink. After that Crevola slept, she did 
not know how long; but when she awoke, the 
Father sat beside her. 


The Closed Road 


235 


She sat up confused, but she saw the old priest's 
kind face. 

u Father! ” she cried. “ How kind you are! 
You don’t know me, but I know you and I have 
come to you because I am very much in need.” 

“ Then I know you,” said the Father in a 
wonderfully gentle voice. “ All who are in need 
are my children. What can I do for you? ” 

Her courage heightened. She clasped her hands 
tightly on her knees, and lifted her face to the 
kindly eyes of the Father. 

They had a long talk the while she told him all 
about everything that had influenced her and 
made up her life; and all about Louie from the 
first to the last. 

The Father listened, asking few questions. 
When she came to the end he asked: “ You sent 
him away of your own free will? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And now you want him to return? ” 

“No, no, no!” she cried vehemently. “ No! 
I don’t want anything. I only wanted to tell 
some one who would understand, and not think 
me a wicked girl. And — and who would not be 
hard on him,” she faltered. Her overwrought 
nerves threatened to fail again; but the Father’s 
voice reassured her. It was tender and sad yet 
terribly impressive as he spoke: 

“ You have done well, my child. On no account 
must you fail now. On you rests the salvation of 
your immortal soul — and his as well. Keep fast 
hold of God’s hand, for your hardest trial is yet 


236 


The Closed Road 


to come. I know Louie; he is not done. He has 
gone away, I don’t know where; but he will come 
back. He is not easily discouraged. But you 
must hold fast to the right or your soul and his 
will be cast into eternal darkness, that outer 
darkness that even the light of God’s eye will not 
pierce.” 

Crushed and terrified by his intensity, Crevola 
sat with hands folded on her knees looking dumbly 
at him. 

The Father bade her kneel. He knelt beside 
her and prayed with the fervor of him who stands 
at God’s feet. And as he prayed, Crevola felt her 
tortured soul expand and dilate until it seemed to 
rise and poise, a radiant thing beyond the bounds 
of self. Her voice, strong and clear, joined him 
in his Amen. 

His prayer ended, the Father rose and laid his 
hands on her head and blessed her. 

Crevola stood up and thanked him, her eyes 
glowing. 

“ You are a good girl,” said the Father, “ and 
brave and faithful. I will come to see you and the 
aunt when I can. And now the day is nearly 
done. You and your uncle will stay the night with 
me? ” 

“ I would like it,” she said; but when her uncle 
came in a few minutes, he said they must not stay. 
They must travel on as soon as possible on account 
of Aunt Rachel, whom they had already left too 
long. 

Crevola made no protest. She clung tightly to 


The Closed Road 


237 


the Father’s hand in parting. Then she mounted 
Gray Bell and they rode away. She looked back 
once. The light reflecting from a gold and red 
cloud in the west tinged the priest’s white hair as 
he held up his cross. 

Uncle Joe asked but one question as they left 
Ashfork behind, whether she had heard anything 
of Louie. 

“ He has gone away,” said Crevola simply; 
“ Father Gregory did not know where.” That 
was all that ever passed between them regarding 
this journey. 

They hurried the horses as well as they could. 
Crevola, wrapped in her own thoughts, rode with 
bent head; but Uncle Joe, consumed with anxiety 
concerning Rachel, kept his dim eyes on the end 
of the road. 

It was long past noon of the next day when they 
stiffly dismounted at their own gate. Crevola felt 
guilty when she saw how exhausted Uncle Joe 
looked, although she herself clung to Bell’s stirrup 
for support. 

Kate came swiftly down the walk, not waiting 
for Crevola’s question. “ She is sick, very sick,” 
she said anxiously. “ She almost die last night. 
I work and work so hard with her! She feel 
better now; but she must have medicine, a doctor 
soon.” 

Crevola looked in alarm at her uncle. The old 
man’s face grew more pinched and drawn. He 
bade Crevola care for the horses and hurried in 
after Kate. 


238 


The Closed Road 


Crevola’s face was very grave as she took the 
horses to the stable. But for her they would not 
have left home. When she returned to the house, 
Aunt Rachel lay quiet. Uncle Joe sat close by the 
bedside chafing one of her withered hands in his. 
He looked up as she entered. 

“ What do you think about her, Crevola? ” he 
asked. “ Do you think she is so bad? Did you 
unsaddle Bell? When she has eaten and rested a 
little I will go to Camp Verde and telephone for 
a doctor.” 

Crevola felt for the pulse in the wasted arm he 
held. “ Her pulse isn’t very strong. I think you 
had better rest, Uncle. Lie down and I will get 
you something to eat.” 

She went out into the kitchen, but came back. 
“ There is a telephone in the Ranger’s cabin, 
Uncle. I know there is one there, Mr. Raleigh 
said so.” 

His anxious face lightened. “ Yes, yes! I re¬ 
member it too, now. I had forgotten it. Barbano 
told me in case we should need to telephone, and 
he showed me the trail. I can find the way.” He 
got unsteadily to his feet. 

“Wait! Don’t go now. Stop and rest a 
minute,” pleaded Crevola. “ I will make you 
some coffee.” 

A half hour later he got wearily on Gray Bell 
and rode away. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


The sun hung just above the ragged mountain 
rim as Louie rode into the desolate yard of his 
Ranch house. There was no sign of welcome to 
the traveler. The house stood blind and silent 
with close shuttered windows; and thawing banks 
of snow still lay on the shady side of the chapel. 
Where the wild iris had bloomed about the foun¬ 
tain, dried sticks harbored pockets of dirty snow; 
and only the faint, splashing drip of the thawing 
fountain broke the dead stillness. His glance 
swinging around the radius of the court saw at 
the far end a single thin, blue line of smoke as¬ 
cending from one of the Indian houses. 

He rode across the court slowly, and dismounted 
listlessly at the corral gate. His face was haggard 
with the drawn look of the traveler in the desert, 
and his eyes burned feverishly bright. 

The great stallion’s head hung low; his dim 
eyes told a tale of hard usage. A deep crease ran 
down his lean hips, and his ribs stuck out from his 
gaunt flanks. There was none of the old impa¬ 
tience in his mien as Louie removed the heavy 
saddle and turned him into the paddock. 

The last gleam of the sun disappeared over the 
rim of the mountain, and as cold dusk dropped 
over the courtyard a long, penetrating wail came 
from the Indian houses. 


240 


The Closed Road 


It began a low, plaintive cry like the rising wind, 
mounting higher and higher, gaining in volume 
and a keen-edged intensity that rasped the nerves 
like frozen sleet driving against the flesh. It grew 
louder and higher and more sustained as wail 
joined wail, and rolled outward and upward until 
it seemed to break in waves against the walls of 
the chapel and dash over it, submerging it in a 
flood of despairing sound. Then it fell and flowed 
backward like a terrible ebb filling every remote 
corner of the courtyard. It rose again and spread 
until the darkening sky seemed bursting with the 
agonized confusion of that terrible lamentation. 

Louie started and shivered. The sound was 
not new to him; but the damp broke out on his 
forehead. 

It wavered, fell and rose again in awful cres¬ 
cendo, that indescribable cry of primordial woe, 
the death wail of the Wallipais. 

He drew his arm across his wet forehead and 
started toward his own house to escape from the 
sound. As he went an Indian boy on a slender 
filly entered the yard and came to him. He rode 
without saddle or bridle and he rode Crevola’s 
horse. 

To Louie’s curt questions he answered that he 
had found the filly at the gate one morning and 
had let her in. And the Indians were mourning 
over Navajo Kate’s baby, that had gone to 
“ Those Above ” the day before. It had been ill 
but two days. 

Louie’s haggard face grew hard, and a red spot 


The Closed Road 


241 


spread on either thin cheek. He made no answer 
but bade the boy feed the stallion. As the boy 
hung back afraid, he said harshly: “ You need not 
be afraid, a squaw could tend him now. Feed him 
and give him water, and see that he is well bedded.” 
He turned away and went on. As he passed the 
thawing fountain he dipped his face into the icy 
pool and drank deeply. He went on into his 
own house. It was silent and empty. The dank 
chill of the unused rooms struck him like a sudden 
storm and set him to shivering anew. He passed 
through the living room and the dining room into 
the dark kitchen. 

He lit a match. By its flickering light the room 
showed empty and cold, and not clean. The 
nauseating remains of a day-old feast sat on the 
table smelling of smoked fish and wild onions. A 
bunk covered with a greasy blanket ran along one 
wall, and in the corner stood two rude weaving 
frames. Evidently the Indian caretakers had 
made themselves thoroughly at home; but were 
doubtless now down in the Wallipai village. 

He found an armful of wood and took it into 
the living room; and as the lighted fire blazed up 
the chimney, he heard footsteps shuffling through 
the hall. Two Indian women came in wearing 
their long calico shawls. Evidently the news of 
his coming had reached the village. 

“ Get me some supper,” he ordered curtly; 
“ and bring a light. Where are my letters? ” 

The old squaw went into the kitchen, and the 
younger one gave him his mail. She brought a 


242 


The Closed Road 


lamp and more wood for the fire, and at his bid¬ 
ding, lighted the candles in front of the shrine. 

Sitting down, he stretched out his legs to the 
blaze; but he still shivered, and the moans of the 
Wallipais rang in his ears. The thought of Kate’s 
dead baby chilled him through and through. He 
tried to put the thought away from him. He took 
up his letters and turned them over to the last 
one. There was nothing from Crevola. 

He sat staring into the fire, his mind turned 
back to Father Gregory. He had seen the Father 
who had told him that Crevola had been there, 
had gone. He recalled the promise that the 
priest had exacted from him. He moved im¬ 
patiently, a heavy frown on his face. He knew 
well he would not keep that promise — not while 
the blood ran in his body! 

He sat there still brooding, his body settled 
inertly into the chair. His eyes gleamed hard and 
bright, emphasizing the jaded lines of his face. 
The Indian woman brought his supper and set it 
on a small table beside him. He drank two or 
three cups of the fragrant black coffee, pushed the 
table away and resumed his staring into the fire. 

Who would tell Kate if not he? Surely the duty 
was his. The Father would certainly concede 
that. 

He thrust the thought from him again, and 
forced himself to open his letters. Mechanically 
he went through them. There were several from 
Mary, all sounding the same cry: her continued 
ill health and her desire to come home. The last 


The Closed Road 


243 


one said: “ I’m not feel atall well, I’m come home 
right away.” 

Twisting the letters savagely, he threw them 
into the fire, got up and strode around the room. 
“ By God! ” he cried aloud to the empty room. 
“ If she comes home now, I know that I can’t 
answer for myself! ” 

He tramped the floor like an animal behind its 
bars, his footsteps sounding strangely through the 
empty room. His hollow eyes gleamed, and the 
red spots burned deeper on his thin cheeks. The 
wails of the Indian women, mournful and nerve- 
racking as the howl of dogs, helped to madden 
him. 

Almost in a frenzy he threw on his coat and 
went out. The stars shone cold and bright, and 
lights burned in the Wallipai huts. In Berold’s 
corral, he caught and saddled the stallion. The 
valley called him; and the thought of Crevola 
drew him as draught draws flame. 

Under the spell of Father Gregory’s influence he 
had promised in good faith; but away from him, 
he knew that he would never keep that promise. 
For months he had fought his desire to go to her. 
As he swung into the saddle, he recalled what the 
Father had told him of her strength and courage. 
“You will not make it harder for her, my son? 
The child has all she can bear.” 

He seemed to hear the Father’s earnest voice. 
He dropped his hands on the pommel of his saddle. 
Berold sagged under him as he rested one weary 
foot as he stood. Louie sat there in the chill 


244 


The Closed Road 


night air until the hot flush dropped away from 
his face. After a long time he slowly dismounted, 
unsaddled the stallion and turned him back into 
the corral. 

He went into the house again. The fire burned 
low. The Madonna gleamed whitely from her 
niche. He crossed the room to the shrine. 

“ Help me,” he whispered with trembling lips; 
“ Mary, Sweet Mother of Jesus! I am in the 
dark.” 

But the Madonna did not notice him. She 
gazed serenely at her Holy Babe, her pure white 
brow unruffled by his appeal. 

His shoulders drooped wearily the while he 
rested his forehead against the cold marble. 

“ Help me, Holy Mother! ” he pleaded. “ I 
don't know what to do. I dare not break my 
promise to the Father. I dare not imperil Cre- 
vola's soul.” He cried aloud; yet underneath the 
tumult of his mind lay the thought of Kate's dead 
baby in the Wallipai village and of Crevola in the 
valley, drawing him as sun draws water. 

“ I don’t know what to do! I don't know what 
I can do! ” 

He paced the floor again. The candles measured 
half their length as he alternately paced the floor 
and prayed to the Virgin. 

Neither brought him any relief, nor any solution 
of the problem. At last physically exhausted he 
lay down in front of the fire to sleep, his face hidden 
in his arms. 

But sleep would not come. Round and round 


The Closed Road 


245 


in a futile circle ran his thoughts, always catching 
at the one way out. 

The candles were burning low when he rose, 
his face calm with a final decision. There was 
only one way that meant safety to Crevola, honor 
to himself, and good faith with the Father. 

He thought of his property, of Louise, of Mary 
and the man of funny faces; of Father Gregory and 
the church. All that was settled, thank God and 
old Louie Barbano who had taught him foresight 
and thrift. There was one thing paramount to all 
these, and that was Crevola’s safety and well 
being. For even that he was prepared. 

Taking a small square box from his pocket, he 
emptied the contents, a dozen tiny white tablets, 
into his hand. Fie counted out eight with pre¬ 
cision, and held them cupped in his palm while 
again he searched the sweet face of the Virgin. 

It was very still in the room, except when the 
Indian wails broke through the thick walls. He 
bowed his head murmuring a Latin prayer that 
Mother Barbano had taught him. Stooping, he 
kissed the shrine. 

“ If life means so much pain, perhaps death 
means peace. I have not lived right; but I can 
at least die as a de Grassi should.” 

He looked once more at Mother Mary, but still 
she made no sign. He crossed himself and throw¬ 
ing up his head he lifted the tablets to his lips. 

On the night came a shrill cry, not a death-wail, 
but an imperative, living cry, full of loneliness and 
longing. It penetrated the thick stone walls; it 


246 


The Closed Road 


fell on Louie’s startled ears and stayed his hand. 
It came once and then again — Berold’s shrill cry 
for love and liberty. 

Louie’s hand fell to his side. That cry seemed 
a call to him. He went to the window where he 
could see through the luminous starlight, the great 
horse standing with upraised head looking out 
across the hills where his lost harem followed 
another leader. Once again his passionate call 
struck on Louie’s ears. 

He stood there watching the shadowy shape as 
round and round the stockade the great horse 
paced, until he ceased from sheer weariness, no 
doubt, and went back to his stall. 

Louie felt the tablets in his hand; and sud¬ 
denly the realization struck him that he dare not 
die and leave Crevola alone and unprotected. The 
thought that he had contemplated it made him 
cold with horror, and a sense of cowardice and 
treason. Surely there was some other and better 
way. He grew calm and strengthened as he had 
not felt for many months. If the wild stallion 
could bind his spirit to circumstances, couldn’t he 
— a de Grassi? 

Collecting all the little tablets, with the fanci¬ 
fulness of one alone, he placed them between the 
leaves of a small black Bible. This he replaced 
on the shelf. He put more wood on the coals and 
sat down to think. 

The fire burned to white ashes, the candles 
guttered in their sockets and went out. He got 
up and wrote a long letter to Mary, giving her 


The Closed Road 


247 


many excellent and convincing reasons why she 
should remain longer with Cousin Marianna. 

Before dawn he was away again through the 
nipping frost, and Berold’s steel-tempered legs 
carried him mile after mile to the south. He 
checked the stallion’s cry as they swung from the 
slope into the aspen grove; but when he reached 
the house he found it lonely and silent. 

Crevola was asleep after her long journey; but 
the sound of his spurred heel on the flags brought 
her to the door. 

Her face whitened. “Louie! It is you!” She 
stood still, holding the door with trembling hands. 

“It is I, Crevola.” He gave her no other 
greeting except that speaking in the swift flash of 
his glance. “ Is Kate here? I have come to see 
Kate.” 

“ Yes; she is here.” 

He followed her as she led the way to the living 
room where Kate sat on a low stool crouched down 
in an attitude of waiting, looking at nothing. 

He paused at the door to remove his spurs. 

“ Kate,” said Crevola in a low voice. 

At the word the Indian woman lifted her head 
and saw Louie. Her face did not change; but the 
light in her eyes stirred like the glow of wind- 
fanned coals. 

Louie did not take the chair that Crevola 
offered. He stood erect and spoke in a low voice. 
It was not easy to face the Navajo’s kindling eyes 
with the tidings that he brought, and his voice 
faltered in the telling. 


248 


The Closed Road 


Kate made no outcry. Her breast heaved con¬ 
vulsively under her blue calico dress; her head 
bent low over her knees. 

Crevola looked at them both wonderingly, 
feeling a tragedy she could not understand. She 
hadn’t known that Kate had a baby. She turned 
to Louie. His face was gray to his lips and drawn 
and haggard with a look like shame. It was 
compassionate too, as he looked at the Navajo; 
and he moistened his dry lips as he hesitated for 
words. Finally he said: “ Do you want to go 
back to the Ranch house, Kate? ” 

She got up. “ Why should I go back? ” she 
answered tonelessly. “ There’s nothing now.” 
Suddenly fury flashed into her eyes as she turned 
on him. “ Devil! Devil! you are! ” she cried. 
“ You will know sorrow — You will be glad to 
die. You think I know nothing; but Kate 
knows —She pointed to Crevola who shrank 
back from her fierce gaze. “ You think I not 
know she needs me — to save her from devil like 
you! ” 

A hot red flashed to his pallid cheek. “ Hush, 
Kate! Hush! ” he said sternly; and the Indian 
grew silent, her bosom heaving. 

The shame and pity died out of his face. He 
threw back his head haughtily and met Crevola’s 
questioning look. 

“ It may be true that I am a devil; but what 
else she says is untrue. You are as safe with me 
as if you were on your mother’s knee. Believe me 
or not as you can, Crevola. I didn’t come here to 


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249 


discuss that. I came,” he turned to Kate, “ to do 
what I can for you.” His voice grew bitter, but 
not unkind. “ I want to do what I can, though 
it is late. If I had known, perhaps the little 
fellow’s life might have been saved; but I was 
away from home. I would have done anything 
possible, and will now. If you want to go home, 
I will send you — for a short time, or to stay. It 
is for you to decide.” 

But the girl would not answer him. She gave 
him a look of sullen fury and went into the bed¬ 
room. 

He turned to Crevola, a helpless look on his 
face. “ There seems nothing I can do,” he said. 
“ Perhaps she will talk later. Will you give me 
something to eat? I have had nothing since 
yesterday.” 

Crevola had stood with paling cheeks and an 
uncomprehending horror in her eyes looking from 
one to the other. Now she felt a dread of him 
whom the Navajo cursed with the wild curses of 
her dark blood. Fear took hold of her and for 
the first time she turned her back on him. She 
fled into the kitchen. He followed her. There he 
placed his back against the door and faced her 
with bright, dewy eyes. 

“ Give me a word of welcome, Crevola. God 
knows it was not my own will that brought me 
back. Yet he knows too,” he added honestly, 
“ how glad I am of a legitimate excuse to come. 
If I have offended you, Crevola, it was because of 
my love for you. I have paid many times over in 


250 


The Closed Road 


having put myself beyond the reach of your voice. 
And I have thought of you through nights and 
nights — always in danger —” 

Crevola opened the cupboard doors. “ Your 
errand is done,” she said in a choking voice. “ I 
have been well cared for.” 

“ You see I didn’t know that. I couldn’t know 
that you were safe and happy. While I —” He 
drew his arm across his eyes. “ I will not worry 
you with details, Crevola; but let Berold’s gaunt 
flanks tell you the story of our wanderings. I 
have gone everywhere, and your face had gone 
before me in a mist. I have done everything that 
a man can do, and I have found nothing to take 
your place. I have ridden many miles just to see 
the light in your window; and I was not always 
rewarded, for sometimes it was not there. I can’t 
tell you how I felt, sometimes, when your window 
was blind and dark! Not knowing then if you 
were safe in your bed, or if something — I thought 
of so many things that might happen, Crevola — 
If something had happened, and you were not 
there— You can’t know,” his voice grew pas¬ 
sionately intense; “ you can’t imagine how I 
think of you, and how I want you! You think I 
want you only as men commonly want women, but 
I tell you it is something deeper with me. I want 
you as men want bread — and water! ” 

She could not answer. She stood with her back 
to him, cutting thick slices of bread for his lunch 
the while she was fighting for her self control. 

He left his place by the door and walked across 




The Closed Road 


251 


to the window where, through the gathering dusk, 
he could see Berold standing with drooping head 
tied to the plum tree. He turned again and 
watched her trembling fingers as she piled the 
bread on a plate. 

“ You don’t understand,” he continued. “ You 
can’t understand what it is to me to do without 
you — how barren my life is! And when I think 
of all you could be to a man — to me — Crevola!” 

His low voice failed. The lines gathered in his 
face until he looked old. He remained silent while 
she, with downcast eyes, continued across the 
floor laying the table for his lunch. 

“ What is the matter with Kate? ” she asked 
suddenly with quivering lips. “ What is Kate to 
you? ” 

“ A means to make your life easier,” he an¬ 
swered truthfully, “ that is all. Of course you 
would ask me this, Crevola — though I had for¬ 
gotten Kate. She seems so small a part of things 
now. There is only you and me in my world; 
and if you go out of it definitely, what is left for 
me? What she has been to me —” he paused, for 
Crevola’s averted face chilled him; he could not 
see her desperate efforts for self control. “ We’ll 
not talk of that, because you don’t know men, 
thank God! You can’t understand their ways. If 
there were more women like you, Crevola, strong 
and pure — with eyes like yours to shame us! 
Crevola.” He approached her pleadingly, his face 
white with his emotion. “ Whatever I have done 
or left undone, you are still the woman of my 


252 


The Closed Road 


heart, and if I could make it possible, you should 
never know any of the unlovely things of life.” 

She evaded him, putting the table between 
them. “ The lunch is ready,” she forced herself 
to say. She set him a chair. 

“ Oh, God! ” he cried distractedly. “ I can’t 
eat, Crevola, when you turn your face away from 
me. Give me, at least, the pity you might give 
to a wretched dog! Have I burned my life out 
these past months for nothing? ” 

He held out his arms and followed her around 
the table; but she shrank away from him with a 
look of dread. “ No, no! Don’t touch me. 
Please! I ask you —” 

His arms dropped. A red spot came on his 
thin cheek. “ Don’t shrink away from me. I’ll 
not touch you without your permission.” He 
threw back his head haughtily, and they stood 
regarding each other from the opposite sides of 
the table, in a silence neither could break. 

Into this heavy silence came the sound of 
galloping hoofs and a shrill greeting from Berold. 

Crevola started. “ He’s coming! There’s Uncle 
now. I wonder if he got the doctor? ” 

“ The doctor? Who is ill? ” He followed her 
to the door. “ Why didn’t you tell me? ” He 
kept close to her as she stepped into the screen 
porch and opened the door for the old man who 
was just outside. 

“ Will the doctor be here soon, Uncle? ” 
Crevola took his arm to help him over the doorstep 
into the room. He looked at her dazedly. 


The Closed Road 


253 


“ How is she? ” he asked. u There wasn’t any¬ 
body there and the telephone seemed to be out of 
fix. I didn’t get anybody.” He took a step 
forward and crumpled in a pitiful heap on the 
floor. 

“ Uncle! What is the matter? Louie —” 

“ He is exhausted/’ reassured Louie, stooping 
with a concerned face to help the old man up; but 
he lay motionless. 

Louie picked him up in his arms and carried 
him into the living room to the lounge, while 
Crevola, with blanched face, followed. 

“ Get a stimulant if you have it and fix a bed 
for him,” ordered Louie, and Crevola obeyed 
swiftly. 

They worked over him a long time it seemed, 
before he stirred. They gave him brandy and 
got him to bed, then he seemed to sleep naturally. 

When at last they left the bedside, and went 
out into the dusky living room, the half grown 
moon poured its light through the window in a 
long rectangle across the floor. 

Crevola went to the window and looked out to 
where the aspen grove cast its dense shadows. 
Louie came and stood near her, but she did not 
take any notice of him. They remained there 
together with the moonlight flooding them, cast¬ 
ing their blended shadows into the rectangle of 
light. 

Without speaking, Louie took her hmp hand in 
his, and Crevola did not shrink away from his 
touch. He held it for a moment in his close clasp 


254 


The Closed Road 


before he let it go. “ What else can I do for you? 
Shall I get you a doctor? ” 

“ I think that is the only thing to do, Louie. 
Thank you,” she answered quietly. 

After he was gone she remembered Kate. 
Through all the excitement of Uncle Joe’s collapse 
the Navajo had not emerged from Aunt Rachel’s 
room. Crevola went in there now. A night 
lamp burned dimly. Aunt Rachel slept heavily, 
and Kate lay on the floor, her long black hair about 
her face. 

Crevola hesitated. The Indian woman’s sorrow 
had touched her deeply, though she could not 
understand it. She longed to say something to 
comfort her; but she shrank from Louie’s vague 
revelations, not realizing what it was all about. 
Yet she knew in some way Louie was to blame 
and she herself connected with it. For hadn’t he 
said: “ A means to make your life easier ” ? 

At last she said timidly, “ Kate! Come in and 
have some tea.” 

Kate did not answer. She got up and went into 
her own room, closing the door after her with a 
definite click. 

Hurt and chilled, Crevola took the low chair by 
the bedside and sat through long hours; only 
moving to go into Uncle Joe’s room, but he, too, 
slept the sleep of the exhausted. 

After midnight she got up and went to Kate’s 
door and listened with her ear to the panel. A 
dread silence seemed to lurk behind the closed 


The Closed Road 


255 


door. She rapped timidly, then louder. Receiv¬ 
ing no answer she turned the knob and looked in. 
The room was empty, and through the open 
window she could see the waning moon hanging 
above the mesa rim. 

Wild thoughts of Kate’s flight or self destruc¬ 
tion ran through her mind. Going swiftly to the 
window, she looked out. Night’s dusk hung over 
the garden, the moonlight making strange patterns 
through the leaves. She listened. The sleepy 
chirp of insects sounded intermittently, and above 
in the branch of a cottonwood an owl hooted 
before he flapped his wings and flew away to some 
other prowler’s field. 

Climbing out of the window Crevola went 
cautiously looking into the shadows, fearful of 
what she might find. Yet the Navajos were 
afraid of death; it wasn’t likely she would go vol¬ 
untarily to it. Rounding the end of the rose 
hedge she stopped suddenly and shrank back into 
the shadows. 

On the flagged walk open to the starry sky, the 
Navajo woman stood, her head thrown back, her 
naked arms upflung toward the gleaming light of 
heaven. Her hair, bound across her forehead 
with a white band, fell in two long braids over her 
bare breast, which the dark cloak falling straight 
from her shoulders, left exposed. 

She remained there in her attitude of invoca¬ 
tion for many minutes before her solemn voice 
broke into a sort of sustained chant. 


256 


The Closed Road 


“ Oh, you who dwell 
In the house made of the dawn, 

Of the evening twilight, 

Of the dark cloud, 

Of the He rain, 

Of the dark mist, 

Of the pollen, 

Of the grasshopper! 

When the dark mist covers the doorway; the path to 
which is the rainbow; 

Where the zig-zag lightning stands high on top; with the 
dark thunder above you, come to us soaring. 

With the far darkness made of the dark clouds above you, 
come to us soaring. 

With the zig-zag lightning flung out high over your head, 
come to us soaring. 

With the near darkness made of the dark cloud, come to us 
soaring, 

With the near darkness made of the dark cloud of the he 
rain, of the dark mist, and the she rain, come to us; 

With the darkness on the earth, come to us.” 

Her supplicating arms never wavered, her 
supple body yearned upward in the devotion of 
her pleading which cast her sorrows at the feet of 
the great Yei of her ancestors and the great God 
of the white priests. 

Her voice broke its high chant, her arms low¬ 
ered, she bent her head and wrapped her cloak 
around her, repeating four times after the custom 
of the Navajo. 

“ It is finished in Beauty/’ 

Then silent as the near darkness into which the 
failing moon plunged the garden, she turned, a 
black shape, and made her way in her moccasined 
feet back to her window. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


It was nearly noon next day, when the doctor 
came in a shining, high-powered automobile, 
bringing Louie with him. From the kitchen 
window Crevola saw them and met them at the 
door. 

“ Crevola,” said Louie; “ this is Dr. Franklin. 
Fie was on his way back to Phoenix when I was 
fortunate enough to meet him.” 

Not unfamiliar with the name, Crevola held out 
her hand, regarding the great specialist with awe. 
His white hair put him past middle age, and he 
wore a long duster and dark goggles. His benign, 
smooth-shaven face, strong and capable, inspired 
her with confidence. 

He shook her hand warmly, and went at once 
into the sick room. There he left medicines and 
gave directions with professional celerity. There 
was little to do. Rest and freedom of worry for 
the old man — had he worried? Yes? But he 
would be all right in a few days. 

“ He — he will not be like Aunt Rachel? ” 
faltered Crevola. 

The physician looked at her kindly. “ Oh, no, 
no! Don't think of that. He is only worn and 
weak. He will be about in a few days. And the 


258 


The Closed Road 


aunt — we’ll make her comfortable. If you need 
me again, let me know.” 

He gave her his card, shook hands again cheer¬ 
fully, and then he and Louie whirled away leaving 
her with a dreadfully forlorn feeling. From the 
window she watched the car climb the slope like a 
swiftly moving black beetle until it stuck its nose 
over the edge and disappeared. Of course it was 
right that Louie should go, and as well with a 
simple “ good-bye, Crevola ” from the car; yet it 
was terrible to be left alone. 

She went into the living room. Kate crouched 
there in her blue calico dress in front of the fire¬ 
place, using her hard brown fingers to rake a few 
coals about a small pot of broth. 

Crevola approached timidly. The awe which 
the Navajo had inspired in her in the night had 
not left her. “ It’s going to be awfully hard, 
Kate, with two invalids. I don’t know what I 
should do if it weren’t for you.” 

Kate squatted there with her impassive face 
turned toward her task. She said nothing. 

“ I never knew Uncle to be sick before,” con¬ 
tinued Crevola. “ I was frightened to death for 
fear he might become like Aunt; but Dr. Franklin 
says not. That is some relief, isn’t it? ” 

Kate got up and went back into Aunt Rachel’s 
room, leaving the pot on the coals. 

Crevola looked after her sorrowfully, and went 
into the kitchen. She made it a point to keep out 
of the Navajo’s way, since she evidently did not 
want companionship. When night came Crevola 


The Closed Road 


259 


ate a bite of supper alone and wandered disconso¬ 
lately to the window, looking out through the 
gathering dusk. 

She looked again more closely. Outside the 
yard fence, a white cone had sprouted in the last 
half hour. A tent! Someone had the effrontery 
to put up a tent while she was indoors. She beat 
her closed fists together. She would have to go 
and find out his business, and she dared not ask 
Kate to go with her. It was easier to face the un¬ 
known intruder than Kate’s dreadful manner. 

Footsteps sounded on the walk. She went to 
the door trying hard to appear bold, but her hand 
trembled as she opened the door. A man stood 
outside. 

“ Louie! ” she cried, almost in tears. 

His familiar gesture of taking off his hat, calmed 
her instantly. 

“ I didn’t know vou were here. You didn’t tell 
me you were coming back. Who has put up that 
tent? ” 

“ I’m sorry I frightened you, Crevola. It’s my 
tent. You didn’t suppose that I was going to 
leave you here alone, did you? ” 

“ I — I don’t know what I thought.” She 
turned back into the room, the tears very near 
again. 

He followed her. “ You are not sorry? I 
couldn’t be satisfied to know you were here alone 
in such a grave situation with no one except Kate. 
I had to come back.” He leaned his back against 
the door looking at her with serious eyes. 



260 


The Closed Road 


She stood irresolute with distress in her face. 
“ You know, Louie/’ she said at last soberly, 
“ that I am many times grateful to you, but —■ 
you must not stay here.” 

His lips compressed. “ Why? ” 

She drew her breath sharply. “ Isn’t it per¬ 
fectly plain? Why do you ask me? ” 

“ Not plain to me. Come, Crevola.” He led 
the way to the fireplace. “ Sit down and let’s 
talk it over.” He placed her a chair and took the 
one opposite. 

She sat down reluctantly, her face uncleared. 

He sat staring for a minute at the cold ashes of 
the grate. 

“ Crevola,” he said without turning his eyes, 
“ this is a hard situation. No one knows at what 
moment a great need might rise. It is absolutely 
necessary for you to have someone here that you 
can depend on. What would you have done last 
night if you had been alone? ” 

“ I — I don’t know. Perhaps Gonzales would 
help me.” 

“ Gonzales. He would surely; he is a good old 
fellow, but he is ten miles from here. You need 
someone near. Who can help you so well as I? 
I must stay with you. I will not bother you, but 
I am in there in my tent if you need me. I had 
hoped that you would let me eat at your table, 
but if you would rather not have me, I can manage 
very well outside.” 

“ I didn’t mean it that way — you know I did 
not!” she protested contritely. “ And — it is 



The Closed Road 


261 


terrible to be here alone, because — Kate won’t 
say a word. But — you ought not to stay.” 

He got up, his face very much disturbed. “ I 
know exactly what you mean, dearest girl! But 
let us set it all aside until your uncle is able to be 
about again. Trust me, Crevola. I am here 
only to serve you, and am happy in doing so. I 
am not in an easy position at best. It makes me 
mad to see you where you are, and know that I am 
helpless —” He checked the rising feeling in his 
voice. “ As for Kate — If you could have heard 
the howls of the Wallipais the night I was at the 
Ranch house, you would be glad she is civilized 
enough to be silent.” 

“ Oh,” cried Crevola, “ if you could have seen 
her as I did, with her bare arms upstretched 
toward the sky saying the strangest things, pray¬ 
ing, I suppose— It was terrible! Yet so in¬ 
spiring! I must tell you—” 

“ I know,” he said hastily brushing his hand 
across his forehead. “ I know how they do. 
Don’t think of it; it’s nothing. They pray like 
that on every occasion. Shall you have to sit up 
tonight? If so, let me take your place, and get 
some rest yourself for you have had a trying 
time.” 

“ No. They sleep. I have a cot down here, 
and I think Kate is always awake.” 

“ Then I’ll go to my tent. And don’t stay up 
longer than you must.” He held out his hand. 
“ Good night.” 

She gave him hers. “ You are so good to me, 



262 


The Closed Road 


Louie — have always been. You make me in 
your debt forever.” 

“ It is nothing. It is I who receive.” He re¬ 
leased her hand reluctantly. His face flushed 
slightly. “ There is one thing you can do if you 
will. Don’t call me ‘ Louie ’ any more. I am 
not Louie Barbano; I am Piero de Grassi. Think 
of me always as such and call me Piero, will you? ” 
He drew himself up haughtily. 

11 1 am my father’s son! ” 

“ Piero,” she said experimentally. “ The name 
suits you better than ‘ Louie.’ I don’t know that 
I can always remember, but I’ll try. Good night 
— Piero.” 

The days that followed were not easy for Louie. 
When he came to the house in the morning and 
heard Crevola’s light step over the kitchen floor 
as she prepared breakfast, he dared not go in, but 
found some pretext to stay outside until she came 
to the door in her neat morning gingham and 
called him to breakfast. 

Kate held herself aloof, never appearing when 
he was in the house, which heightened the impres¬ 
sion that he and Crevola were alone. Sometimes 
during the meal he would let himself forget exist¬ 
ing conditions and think that he had assumed his 
own name and position in life as Piero de Grassi, 
and this was his house, his table, and the sweet, 
serious face opposite, that of his wife. At such 
times he awoke with a start of realization, termi¬ 
nated his breakfast and went outside. It was the 
same at noon; he had always to be on his guard. 


The Closed Road 


263 


When night came he helped Crevola with the 
last duties of the day — he allowed himself that 
— and when they were finished, he satisfied him¬ 
self there was nothing more to be done for her. 
Then he would take Berold out of the stable and 
gallop miles over the mesa. 

Crevola heard his going and often his return in 
the night. “ Why do you go out like that? ” she 
asked reproachfully. “ You ought to stay and 
rest.” 

“ Rest! ” He threw back his head impatiently 
and laughed. “ I can’t rest. But would you 
rather I stayed? Do you feel left alone? You 
are not afraid? ” 

“ No, not afraid. I was only thinking —” 
Her voice faltered as she glanced up to see his 
dark eyes resting on her with a look that made her 
own fall. 

“ Berold gets crazy standing in the stable,” he 
explained, reaching for his ever ready cigarette. 
“ I have to give him something to do.” He 
paused, drawing a deep breath, and turned quickly 
from her. “Well,” he resumed, turning back 
with a smile, “ my work is waiting.” He swung 
down the walk and Crevola went back into the 
house with a serious face. 

In a few days Uncle Joe was able to get up and 
sit weakly in the sunshine. Growing stronger he 
began to worry and fret, complaining to Crevola 
because Dr. Franklin had been called instead of a 
lesser man. 

“ I don’t know how we’ll pay it,” he mourned. 



264 


The Closed Road 


“ Well, never mind/’ said Crevola with a cup of 
milk in her hand. “ Drink this. You must get 
well first.” She tried to look reassuring, but her 
face was so distressed, Louie took the task of 
answering for her. 

“ I happened to meet Dr. Franklin on the road 
that night. Don’t worry about his charge. He’s 
exceedingly moderate. In fact, since it was so 
little out of his way and such a short visit, I doubt 
if he sends a statement at all. Often he does 
not.” 

Uncle Joe nodded his gray head, satisfied, but 
Crevola looked up with questioning eyes. “ Is 
that true? I thought specialists’ charges were 
very high for their services.” 

Louie flushed slightly and turned away his face 
from her deep-seeing eyes, but he answered glibly, 
“ They do sometimes; and that is why they need 
not charge at all if they wish.” 

She did not press the argument. She waited 
until her uncle drained the cup, and taking it from 
his shaking hand, returned to the house. And it 
was a long time before she learned why Dr. 
Franklin never presented a claim. 

Tears of weakness and self pity coursed down 
the old man’s cheek. He waited until Crevola was 
gone, and began again. 

“ There’s a store bill at Camp Verde. I’ve got 
a few cattle to pay for that; but there’s the 
mortgage. I’ve worried over that for months.” 

A mortgage! Of course. Men like old Joe 


The Closed Road 


265 


always had a mortgage if they had anything. 
Louie sat down beside him on the sunny side of 
the rose hedge and listened respectfully. He ran 
his fingers through his dark hair. “ Who holds 
it, Mr. Bronson? ” 

“ The Flagstaff Bank. It’s due in a few days, 
and they have warned me that they have renewed 
it for the last time .’ 7 He leaned forward wearily, 
his elbows on his knees and hid his face in 
his hands, a pitiful, white haired, broken old 
man. 

Louie put his strong young hand on his shoulder. 

“ Don’t you think twice about that again,” he 
said heartily. “ I know Freeman of the bank. 
What did they say?” 

Uncle Joe reached in the pocket of his old coat 
and drew forth an envelope, and handed it to Louie 
with shaking hand. “ I never tell the girl,” he 
said cautiously. 

“ Oh, certainly not.” Louie took the letter 
and looked it over. He handed it back. “ That’s 
easy. They only want their money or some 
security; they don’t want to turn you out. Sup¬ 
pose — you — er — Mr. Bronson, you are a busi¬ 
ness man — Suppose you let me settle this.” 

“ I — I — could give you a note.” The old 
man’s eagerness, but thinly veiled by his assump¬ 
tion of business dignity, was pitiful. “ You’ll 
take the ranch as security?” 

Louie smiled pleasantly. “ Certainly, Mr. 
Bronson. Your personal note is all I ask.” He 
took a pen and paper from his pocket and wrote 


266 


The Closed Road 


out the note, which the old man signed in a trem¬ 
bling hand. 

“ There, as well have it settled at once. Thank 
you. I am going to Flagstaff in a few days and 
I’ll attend to it.” 

“ What a grand thing to have young shoulders 
to lean on,” said Uncle Joe shaking his head. “ If 
my son had only lived! You should marry, my 
boy,” he continued; “ you’ll need a son some 
day.” 

“It is my desire,” said Louie. He did not 
speak again for some time. When he did, he rose 
and said, “ Well, I expect Berold wants his noon 
drink.” 

The next morning Louie came to say good-bye 
to Crevola. He found her with a small dipper 
in her hand watering the wild coreopsis. At his 
word of farewell, her face turned white as her 
dress and blankness came into her eyes; but she 
held out her free hand. 

He saw her disappointment and his eyes lighted 
and grew very tender, as he clasped her hand. 
“ I must go now, but I am coming back.” 

She tried to withdraw her hand and to control 
her quivering lips, but could not. “ No, no! 
You must not come back,” she said piteously. 
“ You must not! ” 

He let her go, but he looked into her face with 
serious tenderness. “I’m coming back,” he said 
steadily. “ It’s of no use to ask me to stay away, 
for I can’t do it; and in your heart you don’t 
wish me to. Knowing this, could a man stay 


The Closed Road 


267 


away? I am coming back again and again until 
you are ready to go away with me.” He put his 
arms around her and kissed her frightened eyes. 
“ You cannot escape me, Crevola, never again in 
the world.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


As Louie mounted the stallion and gave him 
free rein, he thanked God for the swift feet that 
were carrying him away from temptation. If the 
past days had been full of pleasure, also they had 
been days of keenest pain, and he knew himself to 
be near the point of failure to keep himself true 
to his given word. 

And mad with his days of inactivity, Berold 
took the road like a wild creature, brooking no 
control. The dust rose in suffocating clouds be¬ 
hind his flying hoofs and when Louie dismounted 
at Father Gregory’s gate at sundown, the stallion 
reeked with sweat and white lather, and his own 
clothes were powdered gray with dust. 

Shaking himself free of grime, Louie went 
straight in to the Father. He found him book on 
knee, looking out of the window where the sun was 
sinking in a glory of crimson, and fawn, and flame. 
The gleaming sun rays falling on his silvery white 
hair also touched his spiritual face with a rosy 
glow, making it in its clean-cut purity like a pale 
cameo set in the ebony of his black robe. 

Louie burst impetuously into this serenity of the 
dying day. 

“ I have come to you, Father Gregory,” he cried 
directly, standing erect before the Father in his 
dusty riding clothes, his bared head thrown arro- 


The Closed Road 


269 


gantly back, his face imperative: “ You must 
release me from my promise!” 

The Father turned his face. In it was reflected 
the wonder of the pageant of the sky. His eyes 
widened to accustom them to the dim light of the 
room. 

He put out his thin hand with a smile. “ It is 
you, Louie? Come and look. I have never seen 
the glory of God more manifest.” 

But Louie was in no mood to appreciate the 
handiwork of God. He ignored the miracle of the 
setting sun, as well as the Father’s outstretched 
hand. “ Release me from my promise,” he re¬ 
peated piercing the Father with his eyes. “ It is 
of no use! As long as I have breath in my body, 
I will go back to her.” 

The priest rose slowly, a look of bewilderment 
on his face. The book slipped to the floor with a 
soft thud. He passed one transparent hand 
across his forehead in his effort to bring himself 
back to earth. “ Do you realize what you de¬ 
mand, my son? ” he said at last. 

“ Fully,” said Louie steadily. “ I have had 
time to think it all out, and I’ve come to tell you 
that I have already broken that promise. I have 
come to receive my penance, and to tell you that 
if you will not release me, on God rests the re¬ 
sponsibility of my acts—” he lifted his head 
haughtily, his face full of bitterness,— “ on God 
who seems not to care what becomes of us! ” 

“Hush!” said the old priest sternly. “You 
blaspheme.” 


270 


The Closed Road 


“ I do not. But I am desperate! ” He moved 
away from the Father’s hand, his head erect, his 
face wretched and defiant. “ I am half mad! If 
God has put this desire in my heart-—” He 
turned almost savagely toward the Father, “—it 
is a good desire, and pure. She is as holy to me as 
the Blessed Virgin. If — I say, He has seen fit 
to plant this desire in me and let it grow until it 
absorbs my whole being; why then, the responsi¬ 
bility is His and not mine. And I ask you to 
release me.” 

The Father stood still; the dignity of his high 
office straightened his bent shoulders. Long ac¬ 
quaintance with Louie had proved to him the 
futility of argument. His thin hand sought his 
rosary, closing on it with force as if it were a 
weapon. 

“ Kneel,” he commanded. “ God is here.” 

Louie knelt with a jerk and bent his defiant 
head under the Father’s prayer. 

As they knelt together, Louie, still with the un¬ 
conquered look, raised his head and looked out 
at the graying glory of the clouds; but the Father 
with upturned face and closed eyes sent his plead¬ 
ing voice upward to God’s ear as he prayed for 
strength and light and wisdom to guide Louie 
aright, and for humility and patience and courage 
for Louie. 

Under his supplicating words Louie’s face sof¬ 
tened and his arrogant neck bent. When at last 
the Father rose, he rose too, humbled and silenced, 


The Closed Road 271 

standing before the priest with downcast eyes. He 
shook his head. 

U I am wrong, Father Gregory/' he said, “ I 
know that. But the thing is out of my hands. 
It has passed beyond my will. If you will not re¬ 
lease me, I take my release. And may God have 
mercy on my soul." 

“It is her soul as well," reminded the priest, 
laying his feeble hands on the younger man's 
shoulders and lifting his eyes to his superior height. 

“ That, too, is in His hands," said Louie steadily, 
his eyes meeting the Father’s without evasion. 
“ He has put her where she is. He sent me 
there. The outcome rests with Him." 

“ Ah, Louie, my son! My son! " The old 
man's voice rose almost to a wail. “ Ever stub¬ 
born and defiant! But the ways of God are 
miraculous." Again the light of perfect faith 
shone in his eyes. “ I will not despair. I will yet 
pray for you." 

Louie did not answer. He could not speak. 
Lie bent down and kissed the Father's blue-veined 
hand in a passion of regret. Then he went out in 
the luminous dark of the Arizona night. 

Louie was no laggard in the game he played. If 
once he had payed out his soul in the chase for 
Berold, now no less did he spend it in his effort to 
win Crevola. 

Leaving the Father's house, his first act was to 
do the penance laid on him. This accomplished 
he took the next train to Phoenix, and from there 
he wrote Crevola. 


272 


The Closed Road 


“ I have been to see Father Gregory, and the 
heavy penance he put on me I have gladly ac¬ 
cepted. It is nothing. I would do it many times 
over just to sit beside you under the rose hedge 
and see the wind make those little locks of hair 
dance across your face. I want you to know, 
Crevola, that if my soul is to be damned to death, 
at least my heart is expanding into a fullness of 
life that leaves me no choice. I shall be with you 
on Saturday.” 

When he came, he laughed aloud to see that 
Crevola had brushed back all the stray locks, and 
bound her hair into a hard knob at the back of 
her head. She met him with her plain white 
cotton dress overlaid with a stiff pink gingham 
apron. 

“ She is new, all new,” he cried in unaffected 
delight, his handsome eyes dancing. “ Come out 
into the garden, Polly Prim, and introduce your¬ 
self to me. Where are all the curly locks, and 
why all this sedateness? ” 

Crevola took his raillery seriously. “ I have 
been thinking,” she said, granting his wish for the 
garden; “ I don’t know why it never came to me 
before — that perhaps I have been a great deal 
to blame for your — wanting to come here so 
much; maybe I have tempted you. But I didn’t 
mean to — I never realized — I didn’t know —” 
she paused unable to proceed because of the 
luminous glow that started to life in his eyes. 

“ So now you’re going to undo it all? ” he asked, 
searching the sweetly serious face before him. 


The Closed Road 


273 


“ I’m going to try/’ she answered, meeting his 
glance squarely. 

“ Going to turn me about and make me go back 
over the road we have traveled,” he said musingly. 
“ That will be pleasant, Crevola. I’d love to do 
it all over again.” 

“ Not that,” she protested, the faint color 
deepening in her cheeks. “ Please take me 
seriously. If you will keep coming here — after 
— everything — has turned out the way it has —” 

“ Then you would rather I wouldn’t come? ” 

“ It would be very much better.” 

“ For whom? ” he inquired mildly as . they 
paused together on the flags. “ Who is the other 
man? ” 

“ The other man! ” 

“ Yes. Who has been here since I left? ” He 
rolled a cigarette watching her flushed face. 

“ There has been no one else, you know. I am 
only saying that — you know what I mean, 
Piero —” She broke off a crimson rose and began 
tearing it to pieces with nervous fingers. “ I 
want you to forget all about me. And — and you 
must stop writing me letters, and sending me 
things, and thinking about me, and coming here, 
and — and — everything! Men do get tired, I’ve 
read. You — you ought to get tired of me.” 

He laughed, throwing back his handsome head. 
“ That’s a pretty big order, Crevola, for a man 
like me, all at once. Let’s sit dowm here and talk 
about it.” 




274 


The Closed Road 


She took a seat under the tall pink rose and he 
sat beside her, leaning toward her as he talked. 

“ And so you’ve fixed your hair like that to dis¬ 
courage me? ” he asked smiling in spite of himself. 

She nodded. 

“ But I like it better that way for now I can see 
how tiny and pink your ears are.” 

“ Oh, no! ” she cried covering them with her 
hands. 

“ And stop writing you letters, stop coming 
here, and stop thinking about you — I’m afraid 
I’d have to disable myself or put myself under an 
anesthetic — ” 

“ Piero! ” she protested distressed. 

“ As for getting tired of you —” He laughed 
softly. “ Why don’t men get tired of breathing 
the breath of life? Tell me that? ” 

“ They have to breathe! ” 

“ That’s it. That’s exactly what I’m up 
against, Crevola.” He threw off his jesting man¬ 
ner and leaned closer, his intense eyes looking into 
hers. “ I have to be near you; to do all those 
things you are forbidding me. They have become 
as necessary to me as the air I breathe. Get 
tired of you! He picked up the edge of her pink 
gingham apron and touched it to his lips. “ Do 
you mind that? ” 

“Not particularly, but I don’t know why you 
should do it.” 

He laughed, still holding her with his eyes, and 
keeping the bright hem between his fingers. 

“ Little liar! I’ll tell you. To me — this — to 


The Closed Road 


275 


touch this — just this little thing, that you say 
you can’t understand, gives me a sense of happi¬ 
ness, a completeness that is more than all the 
favors I have had from all the other women I 
have known. It satisfies me, Crevola, more than 
the cradle of another woman’s arms.” 

His happiness glowed in his tender look and 
smile; but Crevola without hesitation gravely and 
gently pulled the apron’s pink hem from between 
his fingers and rose, not in indignation; but with 
a distinct air of dismissal. 

It pleased his tactics to obey. He rose too, with 
a faint sigh. 

“ Then it is over today, in so short a time,” he 
said whimsically, holding out his hand. “ Haven’t 
you any pity for Berold? Thank heaven he is 
sound of wind and limb! Few horses could stand 
it, and few men; but it is our most important 
object in life just now. Good-bye. I will come 
again soon.” 

With a smile and handclasp she could not forget, 
he went; and Crevola loosened the hard knob of 
her hair, and covered up her ears. 

True to his promise, Louie returned within a 
few days and found Crevola just coming out of 
the house with her arms full of books. 

Her hair blew across her face in its usual ten¬ 
drils and the white dress was without the protec¬ 
tion of the stiff apron. 

“ Piero!” She greeted him without preface. 
“ How could you send me these dreadful books? 
I am just carrying them out here. I shall not let 


276 


The Closed Road 


them remain in the house.’’ She dumped them 
onto a seat. “ You will please take them away, 
and wait —” 

She waved him to a seat beside the new books 
still in their paper covers. He sat down as she 
vanished indoors. He recognized his own care¬ 
fully chosen books, sent with a purpose; books, 
wherein men and women of the new era defied, 
evaded, and found new meanings in the old es¬ 
tablished laws, and adjusted them according to 
their own desires. This was part of his campaign. 
He must win Crevola’s mind as well as her heart; 
and he was interested to see what effect these 
cleverly written books would have on her. 

She did not leave him long in doubt. Returning 
in a few minutes, she carried one more book and a 
crimson velvet case in her hand. 

With her cheeks pinkly indignant, she paused 
before him and held out the two articles. “ This 
is the worst one.” 

She laid the book on the seat and held out the 
case to him. 

“ Did you send this? ” She opened it and held 
up a string of pearls shimmering with rainbow 
lights. 

He nodded, smiling. “ Did it come in time for 
your birthday? I meant it to.” 

“ Yes,” she said slowly. “ They are beautiful! ” 
She laid them back in the case lovingly, snapped it 
and held it out to him. “ Take them.” 

“ They are for you, Crevola. I sent to New 
York for them.” 


The Closed Road 


277 


“ Thank you. They’re lovely; but I can’t keep 
them.” 

He frowned and then smiled. “ Oh, yes, you 
can, a few simple pearls. I had the necklace made 
for you.” 

“ They’re wonderful,” she said quietly. “ I 
put them on — once.” 

“ Didn’t you like them? Put them on again — 
now.” 

“ No,” she said resolutely. “ Take them, my 
arm is tired holding them out.” 

He laid it on the seat beside him. She sat there 
too, shoving the offensive books off onto the 
ground. “ You see, Piero, when the pearls came 
I was as delighted as could be. And I really in¬ 
tended to keep them — they are so lovely — until 
I read in one of those books of a horrible woman 
to whom a man gave a string of pearls —” 

“ Oh, but child! ” interrupted Louie quickly. 
What a fool he had been! “ That was quite differ¬ 
ent from this — this is just a little birthday chain. 
Quite a different thing.” He took up the box and 
opened it. 

She pushed it away. “ I couldn’t see any differ¬ 
ence. Of course I know how you feel. I under¬ 
stand, but that woman had no right to go away 
with that man, even if he did give her those 
wonderful pearls.” 

“ You mistake, Crevola. The pearls had noth¬ 
ing to do with it. She loved him. That was 
perfectly right and natural. They loved each 


278 The Closed Road 

other,” explained Louie. “ You can understand 
that? ” 

“ Not hke that,” insisted Crevola. “ She was 
a horrible woman, and I was glad she was un¬ 
happy.” 

He laughed constrainedly. “ You’re taking it 
too seriously. It’s just a story.” 

“ I know it.” Her distressed face cleared. 
“ But they are dreadful stories! Please take 
them away.” 

“ Burn them, if you don’t like them,” said Louie 
carelessly, though his lips were compressed. “ My 
only idea was to give you pleasure. I hope to 
make a better selection next time. Burn the 
pearls too, if they annoy you.” 

“ I’ll burn the books, but the pearls are too 
lovely. You can take them,” she added, without 
guile; “ and give them to your wife.” 

On his next visit he brought pictures and stories 
of the world beyond the mesa height, and made 
them real to her by his own tales of personal 
experiences there. 

“ How would you like to see these things for 
yourself? ” he asked as they sat in the living room 
under the light, while Kate passed in and out at 
intervals, her expressionless face belied by the 
keen watchfulness of her eyes. 

“I’d like it.” In a low chair beside the hearth, 
Crevola clasped her white clad knees. “ Some¬ 
times I dream of going on long journeys.” 

“ Which will no doubt come true, some day,” 
said Louie. “ One like you who is so able to 


The Closed Road 


279 


appreciate the interesting and beautiful will never 
be doomed to live narrowly and meagerly, I am 
sure of that.” 

“ Yet I don’t see how it could happen,” said 
Crevola, turning her face toward him. “ How 
could it? ” 

He got up suddenly, pushing the prints aside. 
“ I’m famishing for a smoke, Crevola. Come 
outside.” 

As they went out together, from the door of 
Aunt Rachel’s room, Kate watched them with 
baffled anxiety in her eyes. 

Outside the air was still and warm and the rose 
petals fell in the scented dusk. 

“ There are many stars tonight,” said Crevola, 
“ but there is no moon.” She sat down and moved 
her dress over to make room for him on the seat. 

He sat beside her and leaned back looking at her 
through the dark. 

“ Aren’t you going to make your smoke? ” 

“ Yes, I forgot it,” he said absently and began 
to make it. 

She folded her hands on her lap and waited, not 
breaking the pleasant silence. Perhaps he did not 
care to talk. 

He finished rolling his cigarette, lit it, and the 
pungent odor of the smoke hung on the night air. 
Presently he said: 

“ Can you see me, Crevola? ” 

“ Yes, dimly; and the glow of your cigarette. I 
can’t see your face.” 

“ I can see yours,” he answered, “ as plainly as 


280 


The Closed Road 


if the sun shone on it. I can always see it,” he 
added, “ wherever I am. It is beautiful, Crevola! 
The loveliest face I have ever seen.” 

“ Does it matter so much whether one is beauti¬ 
ful or not? ” she asked. “ It seems that so much 
importance is attached to it.” 

“ Beauty is a very great power, the greatest 
perhaps, except one.” 

“ Why should it be, Piero? What use do they 
make of it in the world? ” 

“ Use is the wrong word,” he said gravely. 
“ Yet it is used. Sometimes for power, sometimes 
for money, sometimes for fame; for good or evil. 
But it does not get its just due in the service of 
these. The most beautiful woman of all finds 
the man she loves, who loves her, and they live 
for each other and let the world go by.” 

“ I should like that best,” said the girl in a low 
voice, “ but that is not for everyone, perhaps. 
Not for me, at least.” 

“ Why? ” his voice vibrated like a taut string. 

“ Because,” she hesitated, “ it doesn’t seem 
possible — now.” 

He leaned toward her. “ You don’t mean you 
would not care? ” 

“No, not that. Perhaps no one would care 
for me.” 

He laughed softly, and throwing away his ciga¬ 
rette moved closer to her. The heavy silence and 
dark of the garden hung around them like a 
curtain. 

“ That could not happen in your life, Crevola. 


The Closed Road 


281 


Many men are going to love you. No man 
knowing you,” his low voice vibrated with a deep 
undercurrent, “ who is privileged to sit beside you 
as I sit now, seeing you and listening to your 
voice, could help loving you with all his heart, 
with all his mind, all his God-given strength as I 
love you, could help wanting you with his every 
desire, as I want you —” 

His lips were close to hers, his breath on her 
cheek, his arm drew her to him. “ Crevola, as I 
want you — Come.” 

She got up quickly, escaping his embrace. 
“ Hush, Piero!” she commanded unsteadily. 
“ You must not talk to me like this again. You 
must not.” Her voice trembled; but her manner 
left him in no doubt. 

He rose too, a tall silhouette in the dark. “ You 
are a strange woman, Crevola,” he said throwing 
back his head, “ yet you can see, I am sure, how 
simple a thing it is to forbid the sun to shine or 
the wind to blow; but that in no way affects the 
plans of nature, the commands of God. And as 
the sun and wind must obey the high order, so 
must I. I can’t escape from it, and would not if 
I could. Surely some day you will understand. 
Shall we go in? Or perhaps I had better say 
good night.” 

Master of himself again, he held out his hand 
in good bye. And as they parted, neither saw 
the dark shape behind the rose hedge, or heard the 
stealthy tread that took the Navajo back to the 
house. 



282 


The Closed Road 


Next time he came they sat under the cedars 
and looked over a portfolio of pictures of the 
Ranch house, of the chapel with Father Gregory 
in front, the court and fountain and the Indian 
houses. 

There were beautiful photographs of the interior: 
the wide hall and staircase which lifted one to the 
corridor above, the stained glass window a century 
old, which he had brought from Italy at a con¬ 
siderable expense. And on the opposite wall was 
the painting of a pure faced San Franciscan monk 
in the dress of his Order. The living room with 
its fireplace and the long dining room with its 
beamed ceiling and the long windows where one 
could always look out and see Berold running free 
in his big corral. And lastly, pictures of his own 
room with insets of mother-of-pearl and small 
mirrors in the ebony finish of the interior, the 
statue of a laughing child in front of the east 
window and the hangings of rare tapestries brought 
from Spain. 

He laid the portfolio aside and leaned back 
against the tree trunk, watching her bright hair. 
The sunlight slanted through the cedar branches 
making shifting gold arabesques across her white 
dress. 

Unable to bear the sadness of his eyes, Crevola 
got up. “ Perhaps we had better go back.” 

“ Why hurry? ” But he rose and handed her 
the wide hat she had thrown on the ground. 
“ Don’t go back, Crevola,” he said. “ Let’s walk 
on down this way.” 


The Closed Road 


283 


She tossed the hat to the ground again. “ Leave 
yours too; and the pictures, they are safe here. I 
enjoyed them very much. It was nice of you to 
bring them.” 

“ I wanted you to get an idea of what the Ranch 
house is like,” he said as they walked on. “ And 
if you could know how I dream of you there; 
how I picture you maldng the cold rooms warm 
and bright; how my fancy places you in every 
nook and corner; how every stone of the floor 
echoes to your step, and the walls of the corridors 
send back your voice until my dreams become so 
real that I find myself going from room to room 
in search of you. I shall lose my mind there some 
day, Crevola, and be found wandering through the 
house calling your name.” 

Her eyes grew wistful and she turned away her 
head. She could see herself there surrounded and 
protected by his love, filling his empty life as he 
would have her. 

He leaned down and looked into her face. 
“ Why not, Crevola? ” he asked. “ Why not 
come back with me and make my dreams come 
true? ” 

She turned, raising her cloud gray eyes to his. 
“ Oh, if I only could! ” she whispered. “ If I 
only could, Piero! ” 

He caught her hands and held them against his 
breast. “ You can, you can! My loved Crevola. 
What is more simple, or more natural? It would 
be the easiest thing in the world! And my need 
of you is so great. My God, how great! ” 


284 


The Closed Road 


His urgent need was in his pleading face and 
voice. He held her hands looking down into her 
upraised eyes. “ The world was made for lovers, 
Crevola, for love. Men and women do not always 
find it; but when they do as we have found it, 
dear — each for each as we love, there is no 
reason why we should not take it. Everything in 
nature commands us to accept this precious thing 
that is held out to us, and is ours alone, for the 
taking, just as sunlight, water, and air are ours. 
Crevola, do we refuse them? Then why should 
we refuse love, which is more wonderful, more 
precious, more necessary to our lives than the 
other gifts of God we take and use. See it my way, 
Crevola. Come to me! ” 

Her strength faltered; her arms went up about 
his neck and her hands locked there. 

His eager arms closed around her. “ Ah, 
dear,” he whispered, his face against hers. The 
warm blood surged up into his cheek and set her 
heart to throbbing as she clung to him, flinging 
aside the burden of her self repression. But as in 
a mirage Father Gregory’s face rose mistily before 
her eyes as he had looked when he said: “ Keep 
fast hold of God’s hand.” 

Her locked hands fell apart. She pushed him 
from her desperately. “ Father Gregory,” she 
cried. “ We must not forget him. Let me go, 
Piero! Let me go! ” she panted in terror. “ Let 
me go! ” 

His face paled, growing oddly white like the 
white ash that masks living coals. He yielded to 



The Closed Road 


285 


her frightened struggles and loosed her. His 
hands fell to his sides, clenched. “ Ah, God! ” he 
cried poignantly, “You don’t know, Crevola. 
You don’t yet know! ” 

She hung her head, unable to speak. He caught 
her by the shoulders, anger flaring in him like 
flaming oil. 

“ Why don’t you know? ” he demanded tensely. 
“ Why can’t you feel some part of the fire that is 
burning me up? Why is it that you can’t realize 
that the love I have poured out on you requires 
some return? Why should you take all and give 
nothing? ” 

Loosing her, he strode down the path, followed 
by her shocked gaze. He came back, and catching 
her arms again in his strong hands he swayed her 
like a sapling in the wind. 

“ If you were less ignorant of the passions that 
make men mad, you would know that I could 
crush you between my two hands. I curse myself 
that when I look into your eyes, I am like a 
chained wild beast that cannot reach you. Shut 
your eyes! and I’ll carry you off like the mountain 
lion carries off the lambs. Shut your eyes! They 
stab me like hot irons! ” 

White as is possible for a human face to blanch, 
Crevola stood looking at him with eyes too deeply 
steeped in horror to change, looked at him until 
the passion died out of his face and his hands 
dropped from her shoulders. 

“ Piero,” she said. It sounded like the toll of 


286 


The Closed Road 


a bell. “ I cannot close my eyes. God gave 
them to me to see the way clearly for us both.” 

He stepped back, his face suffused with shame. 
Catching up his self control with a bitter laugh 
he said: “ My God! What fools we men are! 
Forgive me, Crevola, if you can; and keep your 
dear eyes wide open, for the knowledge of my own 
helplessness is driving me insane.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


As the rainy season set in, Uncle Joe failed fast. 
His rheumatism often tied him to his chair, some¬ 
times to his bed. Thus Louie found Crevola in 
short skirts with a pair of her uncle’s rubber boots 
impeding her progress, picking her way through 
the mud of the barnyard. 

He frowned heavily as he dismounted and took 
the stallion’s reins down over his head. “ What 
are you doing, Crevola? ” 

She turned, her cheeks glowing, her bright hair 
escaping from under her hat. “ Piero! I didn’t 
see you come. I’m just going to milk. Uncle’s 
rheumatism is worse this morning. Where did 
you come from? 

“ I came to milk the cows and give Gray Bell 
her breakfast. Get into the house, out of this! 
And can I have breakfast? I’ve forgotten when 
I last tasted food.” 

Taking his dismissal with a smile, Crevola went 
back to the house with her brow puckered. That 
Louie’s visit and demand for breakfast was inop¬ 
portune, she would not have had him know for 
anything. For days her fast going supply of 
groceries had been carefully economized, now as 
she searched the kitchen she found only a meager 
portion of corn meal which Kate had ground in a 


288 


The Closed Road 


hand mill. She had eggs, butter and milk, but 
there was no coffee nor sugar. 

She explained at the table to Louie, that Uncle 
Joe had not been able to ride to Camp Verde for 
weeks, and he would not hear of her going. 

“ I could go as well/’ she said, “ but he does 
not want to give up that he will not be able to go 
tomorrow, or the next day. It is pitiful, Piero! ” 

“It is,” agreed Louie sympathetically, “ but 
you must not go without supplies. Can’t I get 
them? And he need not know.” 

He went, returning towards evening. After 
supper they went out into the damp garden and 
stood at the gate watching the moon rise like a 
great fire over the tops of the cedars. 

“ Crevola,” Louie said, “ it seems a terrible 
thing to me that you are in such a situation with 
these old people. Let me have them put some¬ 
where where they will be comfortable and well 
cared for. I will gladly do it. It would be better 
for them and for you; you will be free then to live 
your own life.” 

“ I appreciate that you think of these things for 
me,” said Crevola gratefully, “ but it isn’t pos¬ 
sible; they want to be here.” 

“ That is foolish! They are absorbing your life 
needlessly.” 

“ I have nothing else to do with it,” she an¬ 
swered sadly, “ I have no other place in the world.” 

“ There is always a place for you, Crevola,” he 
said quickly, “ a place that is empty until you 
come — in my heart and in my life.” 


The Closed Road 


289 


She shook her brown head positively. “ That 
too, is impossible, as I have told you many times/’ 
“ Why impossible? ” he argued gently. “ Why 
can’t you give in to the desire of your own heart 
and come to me and be my wife? ” 

A pained look came into her face. “ Why do 
you ask me a thing so obvious? You have a wife.” 

He threw back his head haughtily. “ Crevola, 
listen to common sense. / have no wife. I am 
not married.” 

“ Piero, you say the strangest things! You 
told me of Mary Barbano and your child.” 

“ Oh, they belong to Louie Barbano,” he said 
in a perfectly reasonable tone. “ That doesn’t 
affect me. I am Piero de Grassi. Yes. Louie 
Barbano married years ago, poor devil! He was 
caught in the stage of greenness, by full red lips and 
shining black eyes — yes, Mary was pretty in her 
way. But that is over. He is dead. One even¬ 
ing,” he continued seriously, “ when traveling he 
came to the Silent House where the Princess 
Wonder Eyes dwelt. Now Louie was a bold man 
who had always taken what he wanted, right or 
wrong, and thrived on it; but when he looked into 
the serene eyes of the princess he was stricken with 
a mortal malady — which finished him. And he 
is dead. Rest his bones! ” 

“ Piero! ” she protested. “ Why will you talk 
such nonsense? I don’t like it. I want to be 
real.” 

“ Be consistent, dear,” he urged. “ No one 
wishes to be real more than I do. I want to be a 


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real man who can win and take the woman of his 
heart; do for her, protect her, share with her and 
give her happiness. But I am forced to play the 
part of a sneak, a fool, an irresponsible, all because 
the foster son of a vegetable vender married a 
woman of his adopted life before he came into his 
own. You discourage the real man in me. What 
am I going to do about it, my dear? ” 

Her head drooped; she sighed and said help¬ 
lessly, “ I — I don’t know.” 

He laughed gently; in a flash definitely dispers¬ 
ing the gloom that hung around them. Taking 
her hand, he said: “ Come, dearest little Troubled 
Girl! Come inside, and let’s forget poor Louie 
Barbano and his mill stones, and all the other 
sorrows of the world ‘ for at thy touch grief fadeth 
out of sight,’ for me. Did you find the music 
that I brought this morning? Didn’t you? I 
left it by the door. Come in. We’ll listen to it 
together.” 

Uncle Joe did not get much better. He was 
still unable to get about well, so this trip to Camp 
Verde for supplies was the beginning of several 
responsibilities that Louie assumed for Crevola’s 
sake. Thus out of her very needs, he wove a web 
she found hard to break. And she began to 
wonder if, as he said, the outcome were not in 
God’s hands, and she, at least, had no responsi¬ 
bility in the matter. 

Two letters in the father’s trembling hand, 
bidding her keep up her courage, helped her, and 


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291 


a post card mailed at the Needles gave her a bit 
of new interest. It bore the signature of H. B. 
Raleigh, U. S. Forest Service. 

The space above the agreeably legible name 
contained the information that the writer was on 
his way to San Francisco to see his sister. He 
hoped all were well, and begged to remain — etc. 
She turned it over, wondering why he sent it. 

With girlish interest she laid it up to show Louie. 
But Louie’s face grew dark as he read it. 

“ Why is he sending this to you? ” he inquired. 

“ Why, I don’t know,” she answered innocently. 
“ He — just did, I suppose.” 

“ Wished to keep you informed of his move¬ 
ments, I presume. When is he coming back? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ I should think you’d keep track of such a 
desperately intimate friend.” 

“ He’s not my desperately intimate friend,” 
said Crevola looking bewildered. 

“ Listen, Crevola! ” cried Louie hotly: “ What 
is this Raleigh to you? What are you trying to 
do? Why have you always pretended that you 
did not know him? I’ll not stand it, Crevola! ” 
His jealous anger flamed. Crushing the offending 
bit of pasteboard in his hand, he threw it into the 
fireplace. “ I’ll not stand it! And if you love 
him; look out for him! Tell him that the man 
who gets in my way had better be ready to protect 
himself.” 

“ Louie! ” The nervous tears that had sprung 
to Crevola’s eyes dried in her hot indignation. 


292 


The Closed Road 


“ You shall not say these things to me. You have 
not the slightest reason. I didn’t know he was 
sending it. I couldn’t help his doing it. I don’t 
know why he did so. You are unkind, and un¬ 
reasonable and unmanly.” She snatched his hat 
from the table and held it out to him. “ Take 
your hat and go! ” she said imperiously. “ Mr. 
Raleigh is nothing to me. I hardly know him; 
but you shall not talk to me like this! ” 

Amazement instantly killed his anger. “ Cre- 
vola, dear! ” he cried contritely. “I know I must 
not. I know it. Forgive me! ” He caught her 
hands. 

“ I will not forgive you! ” She jerked her hands 
from his clasp and went from the room, closing the 
door sharply behind her. 

“ Crevola! Come back! ” he begged flinging 
the door open, but she was already up the stairs 
and he saw her disappear in her bedroom. 

“ Crevola! ” he called, but she would not an¬ 
swer. “ I am wrong. I am always wrong. You 
must hear me. If you will not listen to me now, 
I will come back and tell you another day.” 

He waited, but gained nothing out of the 
silence. Taking a card from his pocket he wrote: 

“ Crevola, forgive me. You are so dear to me 
the very thought of another man who is free to do 
for you what I cannot, drives me crazy. Think 
of this and forgive me. You must.” 

He went up the stair and slipped it under her 
door. Coming back into the living room he 
turned to face Kate who stood looking at him half 


The Closed Road 


293 


fearful, half defiant, her tragic face framed in her 
coarse black hair bound with a white band. 

“ Louie Barbano! ” she began tensely, her bosom 
heaving. 

“ Oh, never you mind, Kate! ” He jerked his 
head irritably in the direction of Aunt Rachel's 
room. “ Go back and 'tend the sick mahala. 
You can't do anything. Take care of your 
Yellow Corn Girl when I'm away; that’s your 
business. I'll look out for her when I'm here. 
I'm not going to hurt her — understand? " he 
said more gently. But with a commanding gesture 
he motioned her back into the bedroom. With 
the fire still smouldering in her eyes, she bent her 
head and went slowly out. 

Outside Louie’s irritability communicated itself 
to the stallion which eyed him wickedly as he 
loosed the tether. Freed, he leaped back and 
struck viciously with both front feet. 

Louie dodged and laughed grimly as he sprang 
into the saddle, curbing the stallion with a savage 
hand. 

He rode hard, partly to subdue Berold, partly 
to quiet the tumult in himself. Raleigh! His 
jealousy flared again. He had forgotten the 
young Ranger. Raleigh was free, while he was 
bound in the eyes of the world, the church, of all 
those who denied him freedom, of Crevola herself, 
who would not see with his eyes. 

Berold began to snort and rear, taking the road 
ahead with strong protest. Looking for the 
cause of his disquiet, Louie saw a mile way, 


294 


The Closed Road 


across the mesa, the dun colored, slow moving 
mass, and heard the restless cry of sheep. 

A few moments brought him abreast of the 
band, and he threw up his hand to greet Gonzales 
on his mouse colored beast. 

Gonzales bore his rifle across his saddle, and his 
scarred face was not pleasant to look at. He 
drew Pepita to a standstill. 

“ I have been waiting to see you, Senor Louie/ 7 
he said in his rasping voice, “ and have tried but 
I have miss you. 77 

“ That so? 77 Louie smiled with a flash of his 
white teeth and dismounted in the shade of a 
mesquite, holding Berold at the end of his long 
bridle reins. “ I 7 ve been down here quite fre¬ 
quently. 77 He rested his eyes on the Mexican as 
he spoke. Since when had Gonzales taken to 
carrying a rifle? “ I 7 ve been coming to see you, 77 
he continued pleasantly, “ but I heard that you 
had your sheep at the upper range. Get down 
and have a smoke. How are the sheep? And the 
perra? Has she a new family? 77 

He leaned carelessly against his saddle for the 
moment as he talked, reaching in his pocket for a 
cigarette, and a bag of the villainous mixture that 
Gonzales liked. 

But Gonzales did not get down; did not accept 
the tobacco that Louie held out. He loosened his 
rifle a bit where it rested in front of him, and bent 
his evil eyes, bright as beads, on Louie’s face. 

“ Senor Louie, you have not heeded my warn- 

• } J 

mg. 


The Closed Road 


295 


“ About what? ” Louie returned the bag of 
tobacco to his pocket, lit his own cigarette and 
drew on it until the end glowed red. 

“ You know/’ said Gonzales. “ The Senorita 
is my care.” 

Louie felt the hot surge of anger sweep over 
him, but he drew in a long breath of smoke and 
exhaled it again. It was not safe to annoy the 
crazy old sheepherder. Moreover he was Crevola’s 
good friend, and Louie had no desire to harm him. 
He met the Mexican’s look courteously. “ Have 
you been there lately, Gonzales, to look after 
her? ” he asked. “ The Senor Bronson is bed¬ 
ridden with his rheumatism, and I found the house¬ 
hold practically without food. It was my privilege 
to be of service to the Senorita in getting her some 
supplies. The Senorita is not to suffer for food. 
I have made that my care.” 

As Kate had wavered, so did Gonzales now. 
Courtesy was not the weapon he knew how to 
fight. He pulled at the dirty red neckerchief 
around his throat. 

Louie approached Pepita, who looked inquir¬ 
ingly around and cocked her ears at separate 
angles. 

Louie’s dark eyes rested intently on Gonzales’ 
sinister face. “ The Senorita needs all the friends 
she has, Gonzales,” he said folding his arms across 
his breast. “ She is in a hard position. If, by 
chance, a bullet should find its way through me, 
she loses two good servants — Berold and myself. 
As for her personal safety: The Blessed Mother 


296 


The Closed Road 


holds her in the curve of her arm, and her own head 
sits squarely on her shoulders. She is quite 
capable of taking care of herself, Gonzales. ” 

He stepped back, looking down at the mule’s 
little gray feet. 

“ What is the matter with Pepita’s hind foot? 
She holds it up.” 

Gonzales’ evil face puckered into anxiety. 
“ Eet ees ze lameness zat come slow, Senor.” 
Dismounting, he laid his rifle on the ground and 
came around to Pepita’s rear. “ She limp, limp, 
limp, limp! Eef I could get ze good medicine 
from zee Indian in zee nort’, I could cure zee leetle 
she devil! but—” he shook his head doubtfully. 

“ I know what it is. I’ll get it for you,” prom¬ 
ised Louie, examining the tiny heel. “ I’ll send 
it to you.” 

Gonzales’ withered face glowed. “ Ah, Senor 
Louie! Zee leetle donkey, Probrecita! She ees 
next my heart. Peste! I ees tire. Zee smoke ees 
good for dat, Senor Louie. Ees we take zee smoke 
in zee shade? ” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


Crevola face downward, a quivering white heap 
on the bed, heard Louie’s progress up the stair and 
down, and soon Berold’s speeding hoofs on the 
road. She would not get up and look out until 
the silence proclaimed him gone. She raised her 
head, her eyes still glowing angry under her dis¬ 
ordered hair, and saw her flushed face in the 
mirror. She saw something else reflected there 
too, a little patch of white under the door. 

She slid off the bed and picked up the card. 
“ Crevola, forgive me! You are so dear to me —” 
She read it through, and lifted her face and her 
longing arms out toward the mesa where Louie 
had gone. There could be no response; the mesa 
was blind and voiceless. She sat down on the 
floor and covered her face with her hands. 

A few days later Kate came out of Uncle Joe’s 
room with an open letter in her hand. Her black 
eyes gleamed with cunning, but they bore too an 
expression of concern. Casting her eyes down she 
handed the letter to Crevola. 

Remembering that Kate could read, Crevola 
said, “ What is it? ” as she reached for it. 

“ White Lady,” Kate said in her soft expres¬ 
sionless voice. “ I find this. Louie Barbano has 
money to throw away, to buy horses, cattle, 
people. Look out! ” She raised her head proudly. 


298 


The Closed Road 


“ He buy me no more.” She closed her mouth 
quickly and slipped into Aunt Rachel’s room. 

Wondering, Crevola read several times the 
typewritten sheet addressed to Louie Barbano. It 
concerned a certain mortgage on Joe Bronson’s 
place held by the bank at Flagstaff. Her brow 
puckered. What had Louie to do with her uncle’s 
place? Her cheeks grew hot. Kate’s cunning 
look — “ Louie Barbano has money — to buy 

horses, cattle, — people.” Oh, that was impos¬ 
sible! “ He buy me no more —” Was Kate too? 
It couldn’t be! And yet— The flush died away, 
leaving her face serious. She must think sensibly 
and see clear. There was Dr. Franklin’s services 
too. If this were all true, then it must be the end. 
Whatever became of her afterward, it was not 
possible for this to go on. She covered her eyes 
with her hand. If he would come at once, so she 
could tell him. Would she be brave and strong 
enough? Could she hold to her point of view 
tenaciously enough? It was so hard to argue with 
Louie, to convince him. Outside perhaps she 
could think better. 

She went down the walk pausing at the gate 
where Uncle Joe leaned feeding the lamb succulent 
sprigs from a bush in the yard. He had grown 
very frail and stooped, and the constant use of a 
cane made him seem more feeble. 

He looked around at her with dim eyes and 
asked, “ Where are you going, honey? ” 

“ Just down to the cedars for a few minutes. 
Kate is with Aunt.” She spoke gently. The 


The Closed Road 


299 


little term of endearment he had taken to lately 
touched her deeply. 

“ How does she seem? ” He held out a sprig of 
green in a shaking hand to the lamb. “ Do you 
think that doctor’s medicine did her any good? ” 

“ She hasn’t seemed in such pain since. 
Uncle—” She paused and then went on hur¬ 
riedly, “ did Dr. Franklin ever send a bill? ” 

He shook his head. “ No, honey. No, he 
didn’t. Why? ” 

“ I — I was just thinking about it.” 

“ Barbano said he might not,” reminded Uncle 
Joe. 

“ Yes; I know. And Uncle—” she said again 
timidly, “ is this place mortgaged? ” 

“ Mortgaged? ” His tenderness vanished. He 
seemed to shrink into himself, and disapproval sat 
in his eyes. 

“ I found a letter from the Flagstaff bank — ” 

“ There, there! ” he cut in testily. “ You take 
care of your aunt and I’ll take care of the busi¬ 
ness.” 

“ But, Uncle,” she insisted, “ suppose—” 

11 I paid the bank off,” he interrupted again. 
“ Now go take your walk.” He flung the green 
sprigs to the lamb and started back to the house, 
his stick making a slow tap, tap on the flags. 

She went through the gate and down the path, 
her brows drawn together. She did not notice 
that the lamb ambled after her until it began to 
skip and dance ahead of her in stiff-legged, awk¬ 
ward gambols, always circling back to her for a 


300 


The Closed Road 


pat or word. She did not pay much attention to 
it, but the lamb was not greedy. It frisked about 
her awkwardly, content. 

Within the grove she stopped suddenly, and 
quick apprehension flashed into her face. Not 
fifty feet from her stood Berold with raised head, 
looking at her. The saddle was empty and Louie’s 
hat lay on the ground. 

There is something alarming in an empty saddle. 
But a second glance noted Berold’s strong tether, 
and Louie himself, a few feet away watching her, 
his back to the trunk of an ancient cedar. The 
sunlight fell through the branches on his uncovered 
head. 

He smiled and opened out his arms on either 
side, a wordless appeal. Standing there straight 
against the dark cedar, his arms stretched out like 
the arms of a crucifix, his head raised, his face lit 
with the joy of seeing her, he resembled nothing so 
much as a living cross illumined by a fire within. 

She took a step backward. The lamb, missing 
her in its gambols, finished its run in a circle and 
came back to her. 

Louie did not move or speak, but urgent persua¬ 
sion was in his face, his eyes, and in his out¬ 
stretched arms. The color faded from her cheek. 
Again she stepped back a pace, a mute longing in 
her eyes; but she shook her head with slow finality. 

He smiled wistfully and dropped his hands to 
his sides. “ You are free as the air,” he said. 
“ It is only I who am chained.” He left his place 
and came to her. “ I have been trying to get up 


The Closed Road 


301 


my courage to come to your house." He looked 
at her in grave humility. “ Have you forgiven 
me? Do forgive me, dear. I can't have any 
peace until you do. I was a brute, I know. It 
shall not happen again. Come! ” He held out 
his hand. 

She laid her hand in his. He clasped it closely, 
happiness in his face. “ There's nobody in the 
world like you, dear. Do you wonder that I lose 
my reason over you? " 

“ It is not that, Piero. That is nothing; I 
have forgotten it. Let’s walk down this way and 
talk." 

He measured his step to hers. “ What has 
happened? " he asked anxiously. 

“ Nothing," she assured him, tossing her hat on 
the ground beside his. “ Nothing has happened; 
nothing calamitous. I just want to talk." 

His face cleared. “ I love to listen, but you 
look awfully grave. It makes me feel as if some¬ 
thing had gone wrong." 

They walked on in silence, Crevola with bent 
head watching the shadows skip across her white 
skirt. She put her hand on his arm. “ Piero," 
she said slowly, “ Why didn't Dr. Franklin ever 
send us a statement? " 

He checked his surprise, looking away from her. 
“ How should I know, Crevola? " 

“ Did you lend Uncle money? " 

“ Crevola! " 

She turned her face toward him with her old 
direct look. “ Why does Kate stay here? " 


302 


The Closed Road 


A frown touched his face and was gone. “ Dear¬ 
est girl! Why are you asking me these ques¬ 
tions? ” 

“ Because there is no one else to ask, and I 
want to know. There is something that I don’t 
understand, and I know that you can tell me if 
you will. Can’t you? ” 

“ I don’t know that I can, satisfactorily,” he 
temporized. “ I haven’t seen Dr. Franklin since 
the day he was here. Your uncle doubtless has 
sources of income that he does not tell you about, 
child. And Kate —” a flush tinged his dark 
cheek. “ You heard her refuse to leave you.” 

“ You are not answering me — you are evading 
my questions.” 

“ Nothing is farther from my mind.” He 
stooped to gather an Indian pink of especial 
beauty, and held it out to her. “ Have you ever 
seen one more beautiful? ” 

She took the flower. “Tell me,” she persisted. 
“ Don’t talk around. Tell me you have no hand 
in any of these things and I will believe you.” 

His hesitation was hardly perceptible. “ Dear 
Crevola,” he said earnestly, “ why do you bother 
your head about these things? The sun is shin¬ 
ing, the world is breaking into bloom. I am with 
you, forgiven; and so happy I would not change 
places with any living thing. Isn’t that enough? 
Crevola,” he stopped in the path and held out his 
hands. “ I wish I could make you understand.” 
He looked at her tenderly. “ What can I do to 
make you understand? ” 


The Closed Road 


303 


She raised her eyes mutely to his face. He bent 
quickly toward her, but she evaded him and 
pushed him away with determined hands. 

“ No, no! Don’t touch me. I’ve been think¬ 
ing of so many things. You needn’t answer these 
questions now, I know. And I am very grateful 
to you for the spirit in which you have helped me. 
You have been so good, so good to me! I don’t 
know what I shall do; but, oh, Piero —” Her voice 
broke at the point of tears, she turned away her 
face. 

“ Crevola dear —” 

“ Don’t! Don’t! Let me go! ” Again she 
thrust him away, catching at her failing voice. 
“ It can’t be any longer. You must go away. 
You must! Go away, and never come any more.” 

His eyes sought hers in a shocked glance. The 
color and life dropped away from his face. “ I 
can’t! ” he said huskily, looking down on her, 
stunned. 

“ You can — and you must.” 

“ I can’t do it. My life has grown into yours. 
Can’t you understand, Crevola—” 

“ No, Piero. I shall never be able to under¬ 
stand how it can be right to do wrong.” 

He took her hand. “ Look at it differently, 
dear — this love of ours. Look at it as I see it, 
as something very beautiful and holy given to us 
to make up for what we have lost in this life.” 

She shook her head. “ I can’t look at it so. I 
can’t feel that it is really ours. I can’t think that 
it has been given to us; rather that we have un- 


804 


The Closed Road 


lawfully taken it. At most, perhaps, it has been 
loaned to us. In that case it is not ours to use as 
we will.” 

He threw back his head and laughed bitterly. 
“ What sort of a Supreme Being would play such 
a ghastly joke, Crevola? ” 

“ I don’t know. But don’t let us argue, Piero. 
We have talked it all over before, and we reach 
no conclusion as we talk. I have thought it all 
out these last few days. I shall not change. I 
ask you to go away because —” her earnest voice 
broke, she drew away from him the length of her 
arms as he held her hands tightly, “ because — it 
is the only thing to do. And so I ask you, if you 
are a man — your father’s son — to go away and 
leave me. For —” her voice sank very low — 
“ I can’t bear it any longer.” 

“ You are cheating yourself, Crevola! ” he cried 
passionately. “ You are cheating me. You are 
following Father Gregory’s advice rather than the 
voice of your own heart. No man, nor priest can 
decide for another’s heart.” 

“ I am not! ” Her face grew whiter and her 
voice betrayed her effort to keep it steady; “ every 
part of me approves, as you should approve and 
help me.” She raised her clear eyes to his. 
“ That is a man’s duty, Piero, if he truly loves a 
woman.” 

“ Help you strip out of my life the one thing 
that means more to me than life itself? ” he cried 
impetuously. “ Have you any idea what you ask 
of a man? ” 


The Closed Road 


305 


“ Please, Louie — Piero! ” she cried desperately. 
“ Don’t say any more. I am very wretched.” 
She looked distracted, but he would not under¬ 
stand her. 

“ Do you want me to go? ” he asked tensely. 
“ Do you mean that I am unwelcome to you? 
That you would be happier without me? ” His 
searching eyes did not leave her face. 

“ I mean,” she said and her voice sounded very 
hard, for he must not see how very near the tears 
were, “ that life as it is, is so hard for me, that I 
feel that I cannot bear the struggle any longer. 
Can’t you see how much harder you make it for 
me? ” 

“ Mother of Christ! Crevola,” he cried flinging 
her hands from him, “ what do you want a man 
to do for you? ” With a gesture of despair he 
walked away from her and back again, past her 
and back again, his hands clenched down by his 
sides. “ As God lives, tell me, what more can a 
man of flesh do than I have done? ” He stopped 
in front of her, his dark eyes full of anguish, 
his clenched hands hidden in the bend of his 
elbows. 

Her shoulders drooped sorrowfully. She raised 
her eyes to his in mute appeal. “ I have told 
you.” 

He stepped back; his hands fell to his sides. 

“ Good God, Crevola! What are you made of? 
Ice or stone? Have you no feeling? No sym¬ 
pathy? No understanding of a man’s pain? No 
appreciation of a man’s endeavor? If this is true, 


306 


The Closed Road, 


then why in God’s name, I desire you, I don’t 
know! ” 

He moved away from her, his face despairing. 
Immediately he turned back, softened, his somber 
eyes glowing tenderly. 

“ And yet I love you — you do not know how 
much. So much that I think that you do not feel 
a twinge of pain, but that I feel it too; so much 
that every thought that brings you unhappiness, 
brings it to me also. What I say or do matters 
not at all. And whether you should call me or 
curse me matters nothing, so that I hear your 
voice. I would fight my way through an armed 
guard to reach you, if only to hear you tell me to 
leave you.” 

“ Hush, hush — Piero! ” she faltered. 

“ Let me tell you, Crevola.” There was no 
longer any passion in his voice. His face grew 
sweet and solemn. 

“ If you could understand! But you can’t. 
You can’t know. You can’t imagine! I think if 
I were cut in pieces and scattered broadcast on 
the mesa, that every separate piece would cry 
aloud to be with you. I think this very longing 
would reassemble them. And so, how much 
keener is the feeling that throbs through my liv¬ 
ing body with every pulse of my blood.” 

She found no words to answer him. The tears 
ran unchecked down her face. With his arm 
around her shoulders, he wiped them away. 

“ Don’t cry so, dear,” he said. “ I don’t expect 
you to understand.” 


The Closed Road 


307 


“ But I do/’ she sobbed passionately clinging to 
him. “ I do.” 

“ No; you don’t,” he said gently. “ You only 
understand as I understood thirst before I saw a 
man die on the desert for want of water. I won’t 
tell you how he looked, dear; it was too horrible 
— his eyes, his tongue, his face, his bloody finger- 
ends where he had dug in the sand. I too, have 
thirsted on the desert; and yet I know only a part 
of what that man knew before death relieved him. 
There, don’t cry any more, dearest heart.” 

He held her close, soothing her until her shoul¬ 
ders ceased to heave, and she drew away from him. 
She got out her handkerchief and wiped her face. 
“ You must go away and leave me.” 

“ I know it,” he said patiently. “Yes; I will 
go.” 

“ But I want to tell you —” her voice trembled 
and threatened to break again, but she controlled 
it and went on. “ Perhaps I am hard and cold —” 

“No, no! I only said that. It is not true.” 

She looked out past him through the checkered 
shade and sunshine among the cedars. The 
wood was very still under the warm afternoon sun. 
The lamb came up sniffing at her hand. She 
touched its woolly head. 

“ I don’t know how other women feel. I don’t 
know what other women do. As you have said, 
I get my ideas from old fashioned • books. She 
paused, turning her face away from him. “ Yet 
when the day is done and night shuts close, as it 
will tonight, and all the house is still as now —” 



308 


The Closed Road 


She waited. There was no sound for the mo¬ 
ment, even the jangle of Berold’s bridle chains 
was still. 

“ When all is still as now,” she repeated, “ you 
don’t know what thoughts come to me.” 

“ What are they, Crevola?” He spoke as if 
afraid to break the silence. 

“ When I am getting a meal for Uncle; two 
plates, two cups, two chairs — and a step on the 
floor outside. You don’t know what I think 
then.” 

“ Tell me, Crevola! ” His voice vibrated. He 
clasped his hands behind his back and stood still. 

She did not move or turn her face. “ And 
when stormy nights are wild and dark, and moon¬ 
light nights when I am alone —” Her voice sank 
very low, scarcely audible. 

“ What do you think? Tell me! What?” 
His face was very pale, his eyes dewy bright. 

“ I can’t tell you.” Her head drooped, though 
her voice rose clearer. “I can’t tell you — I 
dare not! They are forbidden thoughts and they 
make me a wicked girl.” 

He took one step, caught her and held her, 
lifted her head that he might look into her face. 
“ You need not tell me; I know. And they do 
not make you a wicked girl — they make you my 
wife. As does this, and this, and this.” 

“ Please! • Oh, do not! ” Her hands went up 
to cover her face. 

He took both of them in one of his and placed 
them in the curve of his shoulder. He gently 


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309 


pressed her head there, too. He wrapped his 
arms about her in a close embrace and held her, 
whispering over and over again: “ Mine, Cre- 
vola! My wife! ” 

But Crevola struggled to free herself as one who 
dares not yield. “ Let me go, Piero! Let me 
go! ” 

“ Wait! Just a little, Crevola. Wait! ” 

But she would not be still. “ Let me go! ” 

He loosed his arms, and dropping on the ground 
beside her, he clasped her knees and held his face 
against them. 

“ Crevola! Oh, Crevola! ” he cried poignantly, 
and was silent, his face pressed hard against her 
knees. 

Her body trembled. She laid her hands on his 
hair, and he clasped her tighter. A stiff little 
breeze went through the cedars like the swish of 
many wings of birds. Then the wood grew silent 
again. 

He moved bis head under her hands. 

“ Get up, Piero! ” she said gently. “ Get up! ” 

He bent lower and kissed her feet and the ground 
beside them. Then he loosed her and rose wearily, 
the dust of the path across his face. 

He did not speak again. He went to Berold and 
untied the stallion. He picked up his hat and 
set it on his head. Once he looked back at Cre¬ 
vola standing there so still and white. Then he 
and the great horse went slowly out of sight 
through the cedars. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Crevola stood there very quiet looking through 
the trees. The lamb came frisking about her 
inviting her to play, but she did not notice it. 
Her ears were strained to hear Berold’s hoof 
beats. The sound grew faint, and fainter, finally 
it died away. Still in fancy it beat against her 
ears, until at last she knew that it was only fancy. 
She started back to the house. There was yet 
one more thing she could do to sever herself from 
Louie. 

The shadows had grown long and cool, and 
dusk gathered within the porch. In the kitchen 
Uncle Joe sat huddled in a chair by the window. 
“ You’ve been a long time/’ he said. “ Kate’s 
been asking for you.” 

Crevola went through the house looking very 
white and tired, her eyes dark with dilated pupils. 
Kate, in the living room, squatted before the fire, 
stirring something in a kettle over the coals. Her 
two long braids of hair fell over either shoulder. 

“ What did you want, Kate? ” Crevola asked. 

The Navajo turned her head. “ Nothing now. 
I want the hot water bottle. I find it.” 

“ Is Aunt in pain? ” 

“ Her feet all cold. That all. I’m just fix her 
supper.” 

“ Kate,” began Crevola huskily. Keyed up 


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311 


now, she wished to be done with the whole affair. 
“ I think ril have to try to get on without you 
after this.” 

“ What? ” The mixture splashed over the 
kettle-top into the fire. It smoked and sizzled on 
the blackened coals as Kate turned her face, 
almost startled. Her hands trembled. “ What 
have I done? ” 

“ Done! Nothing. Nothing, Kate! It isn’t 
that.” Crevola approached the hearth. “ You 
have done everything — everything that is good 
and kind. I don’t see how I ever got along with¬ 
out you.” Her voice trembled. 

“ How — will you — now? ” Kate said jerkily. 
She got up with the steaming kettle in her hand. 

Crevola slipped weakly down into a chair. “ I 
don’t know. I don’t know,” she repeated. “ But 
I must. We have no money to pay you, Kate, 
none at all.” 

The Indian girl poured the hot mess into a bowl. 
“ I don’t want money.” She set the stewer on 
the stone hearth. “ I don’t want to go. I want 
stay here. I got no home now; nobody; noth- 

• yy 

mg. 

Crevola looked at her dumbly. The Navajo 
stood with eyes cast down, her face drawn with the 
pathetic sadness that clings to the Indian. “ I 
want stay here,” she repeated monotonously. 
“ I will work.” 

“ But we can’t pay you anything ,” faltered 
Crevola. 

“ What I eat pays me. Where I sleep pays me. 


312 


The Closed Road 


Why can’t I stay? ” she asked humbly. “ I will 
work hard. I got no home now. I got nobody.” 

“ But listen, Kate! ” Crevola rallied her failing 
courage. It was not easy to insist on Kate’s 
going. “ You can’t stay. I can’t have you stay 
and — have Mr. Barbano — pay you.” 

“ Louie Barbano! He pay me! ” flashed the 
Navajo. “ No! I don’t take his money.” 

“ You said so Kate, the other day. You didn’t 
mean to, but you did say it,” said Crevola steadily. 

“ Me? ” Kate shut and opened her eyes. “ At 
first, maybe,” she admitted, “ but not now — 
not since — my baby boy— Not from Louie 
Barbano!” she said fiercely. “ I got money, from 
my man Charlie.” 

She dived down into her stocking and brought 
up a greasy buckskin sack. She opened it with 
eager fingers. “ From my man Charlie.” She 
showed Crevola the bills and pieces of gold with 
sullen triumph; then she closed the wallet and 
tied the string. 

“ My man Charlie was good. Louie Barbano is 
bad. You know Louie Barbano? ” she asked 
fiercely, and Crevola retreated from the gaze of 
her piercing eyes. “ You know him? He means 
no good.” 

“ Yes, I know him,” said Crevola looking 
straight into the fire. “ You needn’t worry. He 
has gone away.” 

“ Where to? ” asked Kate suspiciously. 

“ I don’t know; but he will not come back.” 
Her voice was very weary. 



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313 


11 That is good.” Kate returned the wallet to 
her stocking. “ Then I stay? ” she asked humbly, 
her passion gone. “ I got no home, nothing. I 
don’t ask money.” She took up the bowl and 
went into the bedroom. 

Crevola listened to the soft sound of her gliding 
feet on the floor. Then all at once, her over¬ 
wrought nerves gave way, and she laid her head 
on the table and began to cry with deep spasmodic 
sobs. 

Nobody paid any attention to her. Her uncle 
did not hear; and neither he nor Kate would have 
known what to do to soothe her. The violence of 
her grief soon exhausted itself. She crouched 
wearily in the chair until her uncle came in. 

“ Why don’t you get supper, honey? I feel 
tired and want to go to bed.” 

She got up, helped him into the chair and stood 
for a few minutes beside him smoothing his white 
hair. It was the first time in her life she had ever 
done so. He put up his trembling hand and 
touched hers. “ Honey, sometimes I think you 
are like Rachel,” he said. 

She stooped swiftly and kissed his forehead, her 
tears falling again. In a few minutes she went 
out into the kitchen to get supper. 

Glad when the meal was over and the household 
early asleep, Crevola climbed to her room, and 
knelt by the window looking out the way Louie 
had gone; gone now, definitely — not to come 
back again, leaving her with life as bare as the 
dead branches of the cottonwoods. 


314 


The Closed Road 


If the thing she had done was brave and right, 
why did she feel no exultation, no glory of duty 
courageously performed as the Father had said. 
Instead she felt crushed and disheartened, and 
certain that if Piero should suddenly come back 
again she would bid him stay, no matter what the 
consequences. 

After all, perhaps Father Gregory was wrong; 
he was only a priest. How could he know? How 
long the years stretched out ahead! And he, 
Piero? How would he fill his life now that she 
had stripped it of the thing dearest to him? Oh — 
what use to think! If she could only sleep and 
forget for a little while, his voice, his face, the 
clasp of his arms and his whispered words: 

“ Mine, Crevola! My wife!” 

She got up and lay down on her bed; but she 
could not sleep. She lay awake for hours listening 
to the chirp of night insects, the water flowing 
over the stones in the creek below, and the fitful 
sough of the rising wind through the cottonwoods. 
Now and again the scrape of a swaying limb 
startled her. Once she thought she heard Uncle 
Joe fumbling about down stairs, and once she 
went down to look in at Aunt Rachel. 

Quiet as she strove to be, the faint fall of her 
step brought Kate to the door, her eyelids heavy 
with sleep, her two long braids hanging over her 
white gown. “ Is she fussing? ” 

“ No, Kate. It isn’t anything. She is asleep. 
I was nervous and wakeful. I just came down 


The Closed Road 


315 


because I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. Did 
Uncle get up? ” 

“ I didn’t hear him. I most always hear.” 
Kate slipped to Uncle Joe’s room and looked in. 
“ He is sleep. Why don’t you come down stairs? 
It lonesome up there. I fix a cot for you.” 

“ Never mind, Kate. I’ll go back. I think 
I’ll sleep now.” 

She did sleep. The sun was shining when she 
wakened. Getting up hastily she looked out of 
the window at the plum tree where so often Berold 
had stood, half expecting to see the great horse 
stamping early flies, restlessly tearing up the 
ground under his feet. But she saw only the 
bright leaves shaking in the wind, and a little bird 
hopping about on the ground cheerfully gleaning 
its breakfast. 

Kate had the morning meal nearly ready when 
Crevola came downstairs. 11 I’m sorry I over¬ 
slept, Kate,” Crevola said. “ Is Uncle up? ” 

When she returned from doing the outside work, 
Kate said the old man still slept. Crevola washed 
her hands and went in to call him to breakfast. 
He lay huddled in bed, the clothes drawn close up 
around his gray head. 

“ Uncle! ” she called gently. “ Breakfast is 
ready.” 

He did not stir. 

“ Uncle Joe! ” She went in and laid her hand 
on the bedclothes and shook them slightly. She 
recoiled from his strange stillness. 


316 


The Closed Road 


“ Kate! ” she cried from the doorway. “ Kate! 
Come here! ” 

She met the Navajo, questioning her with 
frightened eyes. “ Uncle will not waken. I have 
called him. I — I am afraid—” 

The Navajo came to the bedside and drew back 
the covers. The old man lay, his hands across his 
breast, his head nestled in the hollow of the pillow, 
the gray hair tufted up a little at the ends — quite 
still and cold. 

“ Yes,” said Kate laying back the covers, “ it 
is true.” 

“ Did you hear anything in the night? Do you 
think he was — gone when I came down? ” 

“ No, he lie on his side then,” answered Kate. 
“ It is since.” 

“ How long, do you think? ” 

“ Two, three, maybe four hours.” 

“ Have you ever seen — anyone — like this — 
before? ” continued Crevola in her hushed voice. 

Kate nodded, “ Indians die, and my man 
Charlie.” 

A slight moan startled Crevola’s tense nerves. 
She looked fearfully toward the bed; but there 
was no movement. The moan came again. She 
clutched Kate’s arm, her eyes wild. “ Aunt 
Rachel! ” she cried in a frightened undertone. 
“ How shall we ever tell her? Do you think she 
will know? Can we make her understand? Oh, 
Kate! I — I am afraid! ” 

“No. No afraid, see —” Kate laid a lean, 
dark hand on the covers. “ My mother, she 



The Closed Road 


317 


afraid. Navajos not go back where people die; 
but I know better. The dead can’t hurt, so the 
priests taught us at the Mission.” 

“ I know, Kate.” Crevola’s voice steadied. 
“ But he lies so still! Uncle! ” She bent over 
him. “ Oh! I know he can’t answer. What shall 
we do? How can we manage? Oh, if Louie were 
only here! ” 

“Not Louie,” said the Navajo roughly. “ I 
can do.” 

“ But you can’t do everything alone, Kate. We 
must have someone to help. If we could only 
find Louie! He was here yesterday; we ought to 
be able to find him.” 

Kate looked sullen, and Crevola realized that 
she must think and decide for herself. Her knees 
tottered and she held on to the Navajo for support 
as they went out of the room into the kitchen. 
She sat down in a chair by the window and covered 
her face with her pink gingham apron. The full 
morning sun streamed over her, making her, with 
her bowed head, resemble a coral rose broken from 
its stem. 

“ Come and drink some coffee,” urged Kate. 

Crevola took the steaming cup from Kate’s 
hand and got up walking restlessly around the 
room as she drank. “ There is Gonzales,” she 
said. “ Louie told me that he is back at the lower 
camp. I’ll go there. Louie might be with him; 
and if not, Gonzales will help us.” 

She hastily got on her riding things and tied her 
straw hat under her chin. 


318 


The Closed Road 


“ Good-bye, Kate,” she said tremulously as she 
mounted, for the Navajo had come to the gate to 
see her start. “ I’ll come back as quickly as I 
can.” 

Gray Bell had good blood in her, and she did not 
break a gallop across the mesa, but it seemed a 
long time before the Mexican’s patched, greasy 
tent came into view, and the tarry smell of dipped 
wool greeted Crevola’s nostrils. The ba-a-ing of 
the sheep guided her to Gonzales. At the barking 
of his dogs, Gonzales came to meet her, his muti¬ 
lated face full of inquiry. 

“ Gonzales,” she cried with a catch in her voice, 
“ do you know anything of Louie — Mr. Bar- 
bano? ” 

The old Mexican’s face grew dark, his eyes angry, 
and strange sounds issued from his paralyzed 
throat. At last he spoke: 

“ Senor Louie? No, I ees not see him. What 
does the Senorita want of him? ” 

“ I want him to help me,” she cried distractedly. 
“ Oh, what shall I do, Gonzales? Uncle — died 
— last night. I must do something! ” 

“ Ah, angelito! The Senor Bronson! I weesh I 
know, but —” He shook his head until the great 
ear hoops swung. “ The Senor Louie has not 
been here this long time.” 

Crevola sat back in her saddle, the reins idle on 
Gray Bell’s sweaty neck. She looked at Gonzales 
entreatingly, but Gonzales was old and when a 
man has been so long with sheep, he does not 
think quickly. He was sorry, but he seemed only 


The Closed Road 


319 


to be able to shake the big hoops in his ears and 
make unintelligible sounds. 

“ See, Gonzales.” Crevola leaned from her 
saddle, “ Louie was here yesterday. Might he 
not be near? ” 

Gonzales brightened. He nodded. “Si. Maybe 
he ees at zee Ranger’s. Sometime he stop zare. 
Eef I could help zee Senorita? Zee mule ees slow, 
but —” he waved his weather-tanned hand toward 
the thicket — “ the path go that way. I know zee 
trail. Could I go for you, Senorita? ” 

“ If you will,” said Crevola gratefully. 

Leaving the sheep in care of the dogs, Gonzales 
kicked the mule into a lumbering gallop down the 
path, while the bell called echoes from the wood. 

Crevola turned back on her trail, taking it 
easier now for Gray Bell was tired, she had urged 
her hard, but now the greater hurry seemed over. 
Louie would come soon. She could see his face 
when Gonzales should tell him. He would look 
surprised, and then concerned. He would catch 
up his hat, throw the saddle on Berold and they 
would come like the wind. And then — every¬ 
thing blurred in her mind’s sight like the swift 
descent of rain. But Louie would be here and he 
would do everything right. Almost before she 
knew it, they dipped down over the edge of the 
mesa and rode into the barnyard. It was shortly 
after noon when she swung from her saddle and 
stabled Gray Bell. Her nerves were keyed up, 
she felt no weariness. 

Kate came to the door, a question in her eyes. 


320 


The Closed Road 


Something long and strange looking covered 
with a white cloth at the far end of the porch, tied 
Crevola’s tongue; but inside the house she shook 
her head. “ Gonzales did not know anything, 
but he went to the Ranger’s. He thought Louie 
might be there. No, I am not tired. Is there 
something that I can do? ” 

“ I’ve done all,” said Kate. “ Now we can 
only wait.” 

She made Crevola lie down; but the girl could 
not rest. Her mind was too active. Louie would 
not wait for Gonzales; he would come at once. 
That is if he were there; and when had he failed 
her? But the slow afternoon wore bjr and no one 
came. Sometimes she went and stood by the 
long white figure lying so still, but she did not 
uncover the face. She felt glad that Aunt Rachel 
need not be told, for why tell her when she could 
not understand anything? 

At dusk she heard the mule bell tinkling. She 
ran to tell Kate. She did not hear Berold, but of 
course Louie had silenced him. At the footsteps 
on the flags she went to open the door. Gonzales 
stood there, and behind him, the tall figure of the 
Ranger in his forest khakies, his head uncovered in 
the presence of the dead. 

Her disappointment whitened her face. 

“ Oh, Mr. Raleigh! ” she said faintly. “ Come 
— in.” 

Young Raleigh stepped in, his ruddy face grave 
with concern. “ I’m sorry to be so long getting 


The Closed Road 


321 


here/’ he said, “ but my horse went lame yesterday, 
so I walked.” 

“ Walked all that long way! ” 

“ It is no walk for me,” he assured her. “ I am 
only too glad to do something.” 

“ You are very good,” said Crevola, fighting to 
keep back the tears, “ and Gonzales, too.” She led 
the way into the sitting room, but Gonzales, un¬ 
used to houses, hung back in the porch; so she 
took them at once into the kitchen which was 
fresh and bright with supper on the table. 

It took from dawn until late afternoon of the 
following day to prepare for the simple funeral. 
As he worked with Gonzales digging the grave 
under the cedars, Raleigh thought much about the 
helpless girl, and what she would do alone. He 
asked Gonzales, who shook his head. 

“ Jesu knows. The poor Senorita! The Bles¬ 
sed Angel! ” 

It was nearly sundown when everything was 
ready, and the little procession went down the 
path. Gonzales and Raleigh carried the bare pine 
box, while Crevola in the simple white she wore 
about the house, followed, leaning on Kate’s arm. 
And while the long rays of the sun slanted through 
the cedars, they heaped a new grave beside the 
old one. 

With his blonde head bared, Raleigh read: 
“ He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He 
leadeth me beside the still waters.” He looked very 
manly, and his voice fell with a gentle cadence that 
soothed the sting of loneliness for Crevola. 


322 


The Closed Road 


Afterward he took her by the arm in a protective 
way and led her back to the house, while Kate 
lingered at the new grave talking earnestly to 
Gonzales. 

Later, after supper, when they were together in 
the living room before the fireplace, he sat, not 
speaking, with his close-cropped blonde head and 
ruddy, clean shaven face in relief against the light. 
In his tan flannel shirt, khakies and leggings he 
looked so much the dweller of the forest! She 
liked his considerate silence too; she did not 
want to talk. 

Sitting with her head resting against the high 
back of a reed rocker, her eyes closed, her ringless 
hands folded in her white lap, she looked so lovely, 
yet so small and forlorn that he wished she would 
speak and dispel something of the loneliness that 
seemed to surround her and cut her off from any 
approaches. 

She opened her eyes but she did not turn her 
head in his direction. “ Is it requiring too much 
of you, Mr. Raleigh, to ask you to stay the night? ” 

“ Not at all / 7 he said quickly. 

“ I don’t feel that I can face this first night 
trying to sleep / 7 she continued wearily. “ But 
perhaps you can’t spare the time.” 

“ Certainly I can. My time is very much my 
own. I should not think of leaving you alone 
tonight. I was wondering just now what the days 
and nights are going to be to you, death leaves such 
a hole in one’s life. And I was thinking —” he 
paused diffidently, the red coming up into his 


The Closed Road 


323 


cheeks. “ What are your plans, if I may ask? 
Will you go away from here now? ” 

She shook her head. “ No. I can’t do that 
while Aunt lives. Uncle promised her she need 
never go away from here. Of course he never 
thought of going first.” She looked straight ahead, 
her face colorless. “ No,” she said again. “ We 
will stay here. She wants to lie there too, beside 
Ralph and Uncle.” 

“ But what will you do? ” he insisted kindly. 

“ When Aunt is gone? I don’t know.” Again 
she repeated, “ I don’t know.” 

“ I mean now. You can’t live here alone.” 

“ Kate will stay here with me.” 

“ You have no one else? No relative? ” 

“ I know of none.” 

He did not say anything more for a few minutes. 
She seemed hopeless and helpless sitting there with 
her hands folded in her lap. He leaned forward 
and picked up a pin that lay on the floor shining in 
the lamplight. His color deepened, but he looked 
at her frankly with his kind blue eyes. 

“ Don’t think me interfering, but — I am 
wondering if you will consider something that I 
have been thinking of —” he paused. 

She turned her face toward him. 

“ It is this,” he said, fingering the pin. “ When 
I was visiting my sister in California, she expressed 
a desire to come out here and live with me. Her 
husband is dead. And though I want her very 
much, I have no place for her. She has two little 


324 


The Closed Road 


girls, and there is no room in my shack for a 
family — to say nothing of conveniences.” 

“ It would be very nice for you,” said Crevola, 
not seeing his meaning in any way. 

“ Very nice,” he said. “ I get homesick some¬ 
times. Could you take her? She isn’t the kind 
that makes trouble. She would be company for 
you, Miss Bronson. This big house must be very 
lonely.” 

“ It is. And it will be doubly lonely now.” 
She did not say anything more for a long time, and 
he felt loath to press the subject. 

At last she stirred as one suddenly aware that 
she must answer him. “ You are very good and 
kind to bother about me. I should like to have 
your sister come, I can’t think of staying here by 
myself now; but it is so lonely here, she would 
not care to come, perhaps.” 

“ She wouldn’t think it was lonely, I’m sure. 
She wants to get the children out of doors, and she 
and I would be together.” 

So they arranged it and Raleigh wrote his letter 
at once. He did not say much about Crevola. 
He drew a pleasant word picture of the old house 
with its roses and cottonwoods; of the animals 
and trees and running water. He told Crevola 
what he had written, and she smiled faintly. “I 
never knew that it was so attractive,” she said. 

“ They’ll think it is, you bet! ” he said breezily, 
sealing his letter. “ The kids have been raised in 
the city and they’ll be really free for the first time 
in their lives.” 



The Closed Road 


325 


After a while he persuaded her to lie down on the 
cot Kate fixed for her, and he sat by the fire dozing 
healthily. Conscious of his wholesome presence, 
Crevola shut her eyes and slept soundly until the 
early sun waked the birds in the cottonwoods. 

Going out with her in the morning, he briskly 
helped her do the outside work. He was a cheery 
companion at breakfast, and afterward he shook 
her hand in brotherly sympathy, and walked away 
swinging his stalwart young shoulders like a true 
forester. He looked back at her once, an isolated 
white figure under the plum tree, and waved his 
hat and smiled before he vanished around the 
corner of the garden fence. 

When the answer from his sister came, Raleigh 
rode over to tell Crevola. He found her in the 
}mrd kneeling on the ground transplanting some 
wild tansy asters. There was no color in her face 
as she got up listlessly. Brushing off the soil 
adhering to her white dress, she gave him a lifeless 
smile along with her grimy hand. 

He clasped her hand heartily, his face glowing 
cheerful and ruddy, his blue eyes sparkling. “ My 
sister’s coming! ” he said at once delightedly. 
“ And the kidiets are about crazy over the prospect 
of a lamb and two calves. When shall they 
come? ” 

“ Any time, as soon as she likes,” said Crevola, 
but there was no warmth in her tone. “ I can’t 
do much toward getting ready for them.” 

“ Don’t! ” he said heartily. “ Don’t go to any 
trouble. She don’t want you to.” 


326 


The Closed Road 


11 Fm very much afraid she will not like it here, 
and the children will not, Fm sure,” said Crevola, 
thinking of her own lonely childhood and girlhood 
spent inside the walls of the old house. 

“ Oh, yes, they will,” insisted Raleigh. “ It 
will all be new to them; they’ll find plenty of 
things to do. Besides,” he said sensibly, “ it was 
her own suggestion to come out here. If she 
doesn’t like it, she doesn’t have to stay.” 

Crevola spent some days getting ready for her 
guests. The two rooms adjoining her own on the 
second floor had been empty since her cousin 
Ralph died. They were furnished with heavy, 
old fashioned furniture, once handsome, but dust- 
dimmed and dingy now. She swept and scrubbed 
the bare floors and painted walls, contrived fresh 
white curtains for the windows, and got out a 
pair of Navajo rugs that her aunt had put away, 
and laid them on the floors. She cut pictures 
from the magazine covers, and tacked them on 
the walls of the children’s room. When she had 
finished, she took Raleigh up to see them. 

“ This is great, Miss Bronson!” he said heartily. 
“ the youngsters will have a grand time bouncing 
on that big bed! You’ve got a dandy lot of 
pictures.” 

He went all around the room and looked out at 
the windows. “ You ought to get a fine view of 
the sunset from tills window. Come and see. 
There’s San Francisco mountain, just the top, 
see! ” he pointed it out. Sis will like that. May 


The Closed Road 


327 


I bring over some of my Indian curios? I’ve got 
a lot of them.” 

He brought them over next day, and Crevola 
helped him arrange them. They were baskets 
and plumed hahos , or prayer sticks for Mrs. 
Garret’s room; and beads, bows and arrows and 
funny Indian gods with wrinkled faces for the 
children. He gaily unwrapped a droll Indian doll 
made of rawhide and wood, and held it up. 

“ Dessie, the little one, will go crazy over this,” 
he chuckled delightedly. He put it in the chil¬ 
dren’s bed, and laughed heartily to see its grotesque 
face peeping out from between the pillows. 

“ Won’t it frighten them? ” asked Crevola. 
Unused to pranks, it did not seem very funny to 
her. 

“ Scare those youngsters! You don’t know 
them, Miss Bronson.” He tucked the covers up 
close under the doll’s chin, looking back at Cre¬ 
vola, his boyish face flushed and merry. “ They’re 
about as lively a pair of little sports as you’ll find 
on a day’s ride.” 

Crevola laughed a little. She did not know 
how to meet his gaiety, but it left a pleasant im¬ 
pression after he had gone. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


On the day that Raleigh was to bring his sister, 
Crevola was very busy. They would not arrive 
until evening, so as the sun began to get low 
Crevola put on a fresh white dress, made some 
tea cakes for supper, set the table and, feeling that 
all was ready when they should arrive, she sat 
down in the living room to wait. 

What would it be like to have a strange woman 
in the house, she wondered. And children? She 
knew so little about children. Raleigh had de¬ 
scribed them: Eunice was fair with blue eyes like 
his sister Olive, and Dessie, the little one. had 
black hair that curled tightly, and roguish black 
eyes. They were a lively pair, and they were 
going to bring a dog. Mrs. Garret had written a 
nice letter and asked if they might. The letter 
gave the impression that she might be like Mr. 
Raleigh. Crevola hoped so. 

Kate came to the door. “ I wanted to ask if 
the strange lady will come in here tonight? ” 

“ No,’ 7 said Crevola. “ Not tonight. It’s get¬ 
ting late. I wish they would come,” she added 
nervously. 

It was almost dark when she heard the motor 
stop at the gate. She went down the walk feeling 
confused and shivering. Mr. Raleigh leaped out 


i 


The Closed Road 


329 


of the car and waved his hat. It seemed that a 
dozen people followed. 

“ Crevola,” said Raleigh in his pleased excite¬ 
ment, “ This is sister Olive and here are Eunice 
and Dessie.” 

Crevola advanced, conscious of a tall, gracious 
woman, and two bright-faced children. She felt 
warm hand-clasps, heard warm greetings. She 
stood distressed and almost silent, trying to keep 
back the tears that would choke her. The 
chauffeur helped Raleigh to carry in the luggage 
— loads and loads of it, it seemed. A funny gray 
dog frisked and barked excitedly, while the chil¬ 
dren tried to make him keep still. Then they all 
came into the house and the car whirled away. 

With a suit case in each hand, his ruddy face 
smiling and bright, Raleigh offered to take his 
sister upstairs. 

“ I want her see my basset! ” Bessie chal¬ 
lenged Crevola, holding a quaint Indian basket up 
before her face. “ See! Nise man dived it to 
me, ’n talk to me, ’n say, ‘ Goo’ bye, Shipmonk! ’ 
Whas ‘ shipmonk ’? ” 

Unused to children’s prattle, Crevola looked 
bewildered. 

Mrs. Garret smiled and paused to explain. 

“ A gentleman gave it to her at Seligman. He 
bought it from an old Indian woman and, having 
no wish for it, I presume, wanted to give it to 
Dessie. He said he had a little girl like her. He 
looked like a foreigner, tall and dark, but so sad. 
His expression quite went to my heart. Come, 


330 


The Closed Road 


Dessie. Shall we go right on upstairs with 
Bruce? ” 

Crevola nodded silently and fled into the kitchen, 
where she buried her face in the roller towel and 
cried from sheer nervous excitement. 

She had recovered herself again when they all 
came back looking different without their wraps. 
The children wore bright ginghams and Mrs. 
Garret looked very tall and graceful in her dark 
suit. She was very much like her brother, Cre¬ 
vola thought, and she had his friendly smile. 

Man-like, Raleigh had brought them all back 
into the kitchen where Crevola was putting supper 
on the table. He wanted to help; so Crevola let 
him cut the bread and pile the cakes on a plate. 
He set the plate too near the edge of the table and 
it fell bottom-side up scattering the cakes on the 
floor. 

“ Why Bruce, dear! ” exclaimed Mrs. Garret. 

“ That’s awful of me, Miss Bronson! ” Raleigh 
stooped to pick up the wreckage and the children 
sprang to help him. They all bumped heads 
smartly and the children screamed with laughter. 
Dessie planted her fat little foot on a cake and 
squashed it. 

“ Uncle Bruce! Look what Dessie’s done! ” 
cried Eunice. 

Dessie hopped around the table to show Crevola, 
and the dog barked loudly until they gave him the 
cake. 

“ Children, children! You must not!” said 
Mrs. Garret with gentle authority. “ You must 


The Closed Road 


331 


be quiet! You must not encourage them to be so 
rude, Bruce, dear. You must be quiet children. 
They are not used to so much noise in this house.” 

Crevola saw the downfall of her cakes with a 
feeling of dismay, but she smiled at Dessie, whose 
plump hands over her mouth tried to suppress 
ungovernable giggles. “ We are not used to it, 
but I think we like it.” 

“ Mama,” Eunice stood holding the plate of 
cakes with both hands, “ are the cakes spoiled? ” 

“ Sure not! ” declared Raleigh. “ We’ll eat 
those cakes. Please let us, Miss Bronson,” he in¬ 
sisted, taking the plate from the child and setting 
it on the table. 

“ They’re good cakes,” said Eunice, “ Skenecks 
liked his.” 

“ Why, Eunice! ” reproved her mother again in 
distress; but a flash of surprised amusement came 
into Crevola’s face. A faint red came also. She 
smiled at both the child and Mrs. Garret. “ I 
don’t mind at all,” she said. “ Perhaps Skenecks is 
a good judge.” 

Bruce kissed his sister boyishly. “ Never mind, 
Sis. I started it. They’ll be all right tomorrow 
when they’re not so excited. It seems so good to 
have you here, that I’m crazy as the kids. When 
will it be time to eat? ” 

They had supper. Dessie insisted on sitting by 
Crevola, and told her all about the journey out from 
home; but Crevola did not understand a word of it. 
She listened intently though, and smiled tremu¬ 
lously at them all as she looked from one happy 


332 


The Closed Road 


face to another. This was what she had vaguely 
dreamed of all her life — smiling faces, happy 
voices, the gay confusion of laughter and talk. 

She said little. She had all she could do to keep 
back the tears, and a lump welled up in her throat 
making it hard for her to swallow. But she said 
presently, “ Did you once live in Flagstaff? ” 

“ Sure! ” said Raleigh; “ I was ready to take 
the world over — on consideration — when I left 
there. I was just graduated from high school.” 

Crevola’s eyes kindled. “ Do you remember 
the Parkers? ” 

“ Why I surely do,” said Olive Garret. “ Char¬ 
lotte Parker and I were chums before I was 
married. Did you know them? ” 

“ I stayed there a little while before Aunt 
Rachel took sick.” 

Raleigh looked at her intently. “ Wasn’t it 
the year Olive visited there when Eunice was a 
baby? ” he asked. “ I remember someone there.” 

“ I remember a baby that used to cry and bang 
its heels on the floor,” said Crevola happily. “ It 
was so funny! ” 

“ That was undoubtedly Eunice.” Mrs. Gar¬ 
ret looked across the table at her elder daughter. 
“ You do it yet; don’t you, dear? ” 

“ Not very often,” said Eunice seriously. 

“ I remember you now,” said Mrs. Garret to 
Crevola. “ And how lovely! We thought we 
were strangers and we are old friends.” 

So they talked until Dessie’s curly head toppled 
over into her plate. She waked up enough to 


The Closed Road 


333 


insist on sleeping with Crevola. Mrs. Garret 
could not dissuade her. She clung to Crevola like 
a little burr. 

“ Does it bother you to sleep with a child? ” 

“ I don’t know/’ said Crevola truthfully, “ I 
have never slept with one. But I don’t see why 
it should.” 

They all went upstairs to the children’s room, 
for Raleigh wanted to see them find the doll. 

Eunice found it first. “ What’s in my bed! ” 
She picked out the grotesque thing and held it up, 
staring at it, round eyed. 

“ Mine! ” shrieked Dessie, tumbling onto the bed 
and grabbing a stiff leg. “ In’t it funny! Tan it 
valk? ” 

“ Can it, Uncle Bruce? ” cried Eunice feeling of 
its legs. “ Can it walk? Can it stand up? It’s 
stiff! ” 

They tried to make the droll thing stand up and 
walk over the bed, while screams of childish laugh¬ 
ter waked the long silence in the upper story of the 
old house. Finally Mrs. Garret said that they 
must be quiet and go to bed. They had a little 
altercation as to who should have the doll to take 
to bed; but Eunice won since Dessie was to have 
the privilege of sleeping with Crevola. Then they 
all went off to bed, and the old house resumed its 
quiet. 

Crevola did not sleep much with the little kick¬ 
ing morsel in her bed; but she lay awake quite 
happily looking forward to the coming days. 

“ She seems a lovely girl, Bruce,” decided Mrs. 


834 


The Closed Road 


Garret, “ but her expression goes to my heart. 
We must make her look happier.” 

Dessie especially adopted Crevola, and followed 
her about like a puppy. One day she climbed up 
into Crevola’s lap, and asked: 

“ Tan you lats loud, Temola? ” 

“ Do what? ” 

“ Lats. Lats, loud. You nezzer do.” 

Crevola looked puzzled. “ Can you? ” 

Bessie’s black curls flopped vigorously in assent. 

“ Let’s see you.” 

Dessie threw back her small head, opened her 
mouth and laughed loudly and long. She ceased 
suddenly. “ Zat a-way. You do.” 

“ I’m — afraid I — can’t just now,” said Cre¬ 
vola. 

“ Yeh,” insisted Dessie, “ Ty, ’n I s’o you my 
basset.” 

Crevola’s lips trembled. Mrs. Garret had told 
her again the story of the basket, with fuller detail. 
She had not the slightest doubt that the tourist 
was Louie. At Dessie’s repeated command she 
dropped her head on the child’s shoulder and 
sobbed. 

“ Dessie, dear! ” cried Mrs. Garret, “ You must 
not annoy Crevola.” 

But Dessie was on the order of a tonic. She 
wriggled her small shoulder. “ Not zat a-way! 
Zat like kyin’! ” 

Mrs. Garret rose. “ Dessie! ” 

“ What are you trying to do, Dessie? ” Raleigh 
came into the room. 


The Closed Road 


335 


“ I vants Temola to lats. She ky,” com¬ 
plained Dessie forlornly. 

Crevola hastily lifted her head. She caught her 
breath, trying to smile. “ I — I will next time, 
Dessie. I’ll have to practice.” 

“ Get down, Dessie,” ordered Raleigh. “ Eunice 
and the lamb and Skenecks want you out in the 
yard. Temola wants to ride now, and she will 
practice laughing while she’s gone. Will you go, 
Crevola? ” 

Glad to escape, Crevola fled up stairs to get 
into her riding things. 

“ There is something more than her uncle’s 
death, I am afraid, Bruce,” said Mrs. Garret. 

“ It’s nothing, Olive, I’m sure.” Raleigh’s 
ruddy face grew almost irritable. Sometimes he 
thought of Louie Barbano, for Gonzales said that 
Louie had been there much. “ It’s nothing,” he 
repeated, “ but this awful life she has lived. It 
will take some time for her to pick up.” He 
changed the subject, and when Crevola came 
dressed ready for the ride, they were talking about 
the Indian they had hired to do the rough work 
outside and be there when Raleigh was away. 

Crevola’s eyes were red, but she mustered a 
smile. “ I wish we had another horse, Olive,” she 
said, “ so that you could go too.” 

“ I’ll go another time,” said Mrs. Garret. 
“ This is your turn.” 

As they rode they met Gonzales who told them 
that Father Gregory was very ill. The weekly 
paper coming later published the account of his 


336 


The Closed Road 


funeral. Raleigh handed her the paper. “ Father 
Gregory is dead.” 

Crevola’s tears fell fast as she read of the good 
old priest’s life and death. At the bottom of the 
column was the name of Louie Barbano among 
the pall bearers. 

Crevola cut out the account and many times she 
wept over it in secret; not for the death of the 
priest, but because she knew that the last tie of 
love that bound Louie was now severed. 

It was after this that Lome’s letter came. 

“ Crevola,” she read, “ we have lost Father 
Gregory. I was with him when he died, and we 
talked of you. I see many things now to which 
I have been blind. Somehow in the light that 
descended on him in his last hour, I seemed to see 
clearly as he saw, and tried to show me many 
times. 

“ Dear, I would not bring harm to one hair of 
your head. I would give my life to save what is 
dear to you. It takes a large vessel to hold a 
great measure of wine. Try to condense it and 
it spills over or breaks the cask. 

“ So, my dear, I have tried to pour the unlimited 
wine of my love into your standard measure; and 
you have been drenched, almost drowned. I see 
it now, dear. I could not before. Forgive me! 
We men of Italy do not love as calm and proper 
humans. We love as God meant all nature to 
love, to desire, to possess, to hold. 

“ I have been a madman because you are the 
first thing in my life that I could not win or take. 


The Closed Road 


337 


Can you believe that, dear? I have failed to win 
you. I cannot take you because I love you, and 
you are therefore sacred. 

“ Do you expect me to be resigned and calm? 
A de Grassi was never resigned; a Barbano never 
calm. I was born a de Grassi; but I was brought 
up a Barbano, my first years nurtured by the garlic 
tainted milk sucked from Mother Barbano’s ample 
breasts. 

“ Remember this, Crevola, if ever you think ill 
of me. The de Grassis and the Barbanos are set 
widely apart; and when they are brought together 
and mingled, as in my wretched being, what can 
you expect, or hope for? Only your hand could 
bring order out of such distracting chaos; and the 
service of that hand is denied me. 

“ I shall never bother you any more, dear; but 
God is in his heaven and he is good. Sometime 
he may open the way.” 

There was no beginning, no ending to the 
letter; no date, no place of writing. The post 
mark was blurred, but it bore a foreign stamp; 
and by that she knew that he was very far away. 


CHAPTER XXX 


Crevola made a deliberate and conscientious 
effort to forget. She thrust all her longings and 
memories down deep, and tried to live wholly this 
new life before her. Her reserved nature expanded 
and responded to the kindness and love of Mrs. 
Garret. She learned to romp and play with the 
children; and Dessie no longer complained that 
she did not “ lats,” for sometimes the old house 
rang with their merriment. She made shadow 
pictures which she had learned in her childhood, 
for the children and helped them with scrap books. 
They went on picnics and kept anniversaries. Of 
Eunice’s seventh birthday which came soon after 
her arrival, they made a real holiday. 

Early in the afternoon Crevola and the children 
went out, coming in later with their arms full of 
pale iris blooms, and long garlands of wild black¬ 
berry vines to deck the house. 

Eunice was looking very important because it 
was her birthday, and Dessie with a rent in her 
gingham dress, was crying dismally because she 
had had to have her birthday in San Francisco. 

She howled anew as Mrs. Garret laughingly 
displayed the cake with pitch-pine splinters stuck 
in for candles, and a wobbly lamb that Gonzales 
had brought. 


The Closed Road 


339 


u All zeese! ” she wailed, waving a fat arm 
about, 11 and I dis goed to de 1 movie ’! ” 

u You had a party and a cake/’ reminded 
Eunice, touching with careful fingers the ribbon 
Crevola tied on her hair. 

“ Nuffin’ but ole boys and gils,” sobbed Dessie. 
“ Uncle Bruce wasn’t dare, and jes’ common old 
pink cannels! ” 

u Now, see here, Dessie! ” Crevola gathered her 
up in her arms and shook her lovingly. “ You 
hush crying and help me fry the cottontails for 
supper. Uncle Bruce will be here pretty soon. 
And when Gonzales comes back tomorrow you can 
ride Pepita.” 

“ All alone? ” demanded Dessie. “ Eunice tan’t 
wide? ” 

“ No, if you don’t want her to, by tomorrow,” 
smiled Crevola. “ Now, go wash your face.” 

When Raleigh came in from a week’s trip to his 
Ranger shack, the cottontails were fried to a 
turn and the cake, surrounded by yellow primroses, 
was in the place of honor. The children with 
fresh ribbons and sprigged lawns and Mrs. Garret 
and Crevola in white muslins were all waiting for 
him in the vine-bedecked living room. Even 
Skenecks sported a ribbon which gave him con¬ 
siderable annoyance, and the children much 
trouble to make him “ be nice.” 

Raleigh paused in the doorway in his dusty 
khakies. 

“ What’s up? ” he cried, smiling broadly through 
his week’s growth of beard. “ What’s going on? ” 


340 


The Closed Road 


The children bounced up. “ It’s a party, a 
party, a party, Uncle Bruce, a s’prise! ” they 
shrieked, and caught his outstretched hands. 

“ A party! Who for? Me? ” 

“ No! ” screamed Eunice jerking his arm. 
“ It’s my party; but you’re the company.” 

“ You’s ze invited! ” screamed Dessie, jerking 
his other arm. “ You an’ Temola,” she added. 

“ Gee! I’m awful looking company,” protested 
Raleigh, looking across at Crevola’s slim white 
coolness. 

“ You’ll have time to shave and change, dear 
Bruce,” said his sister. “ And hurry, dear, 
because the children are so impatient.” 

The party supper was a terrific success. The 
“ candles ” smoked rather badly, and Dessie cried 
because Eunice kept calling Uncle Bruce the 
“ company,” forgetting to include Crevola in that 
desirable class; but laying aside these small things, 
it was a triumphant social success. 

Afterward, Mrs. Garret got out her guitar and 
played while the children danced. They insisted 
that Crevola join them, but she smiled helplessly. 

“ I don’t know how,” she said. “ I never saw 
anyone dance.” 

“ Uncle Bruce, s’o her! ” commanded Dessie. 

Raleigh looked at Crevola’s faintly flushing 
face. “ Would you like to? Come and try.” 

She got up hesitatingly and laid her hand on his 
arm. After a few false starts they got going very 
well. “ It doesn’t seem so hard,” said Crevola 
breathlessly, “ but it makes me dizzy.” 


The Closed Road 


341 


“ Oh, Temola’s a-dancin’!” giggled Dessie 
jumping up and down, her curls bobbing. “ Now, 
we tan all dance! ” 

This was not the last of it. Sometimes they 
would spend whole evenings dancing with the 
children to the music of Mrs. Garret’s guitar. At 
other times Raleigh told them Indian legends, of 
Indian superstitions, rites and ceremonial dances. 
He explained the meaning of the designs on 
blankets and baskets. Sometimes they all sang 
together, or made candy, or read aloud. Crevola 
felt that she would almost be content if it would 
continue forever. 

Kate, too, grew less silent and less sullen. She 
told the children stories of long-ago chiefs and 
warriors, and crooned Indian songs as she washed 
and ironed their stout little gingham dresses. 
And after the other Indian came, she brooded 
less. 

He was a Navajo, too, young and stalwart, and 
looked with much favor on Kate. Often at 
evening Crevola saw them stealing away with 
Indian furtiveness through the twilight together. 
It was then she looked up toward the rim of the 
mesa with shadowed eyes, but its clear line was 
undisturbed as if it were painted across a canvas. 

Long before the apples fell, Raleigh discovered 
what he desired most; and as he and Crevola 
walked among the cedars, he told her of his love 
for her. 

Crevola’s face grew distressed under her wide 
hat. “ Please, Bruce,” she entreated, “ don’t 


342 


The Closed Road 


talk of love. We are all so happy here together. 
It is like a real home. Don’t disturb it.” 

“ I don’t mean my love to disturb your happi¬ 
ness, Crevola,” he said, a pained flush covering his 
boyish face. 

“No, no! Not that way! I don’t mean that,” 
she said contritely. “It is wonderful that you 
should love me and want me. But, oh, I can’t 
think of love now! I can’t think of anything. 
Life seems so strange, so unreal.” She laid her 
hand on his arm and started down the path. 

Her distressed look gave way to one of gentle 
melancholy. “ Yet I’m happy — happier than I 
have ever been, in a way. You are all so wonder¬ 
fully good to me. I think I must feel as the mesa 
grass feels when the hot season breaks and the 
refreshing rains fall on it. Yes, I am happy, 
but —” A slight shiver passed over her. “ Let’s 
not talk of love.” 

“ It shall be as you say, but you will change, 
Crevola.” Her manner puzzled him, and he 
could not press her. “ I am willing to wait for 
the change. And when it comes we will learn 
together what a real home is.” 

After this the knowledge of Raleigh’s love for 
her made Crevola see him in a new light. Watch¬ 
ing him day by day in their intimate home life, 
she fell to contrasting him with Louie, not always, 
she knew, to Louie’s advantage. She contrasted 
his close-cropped blonde head with Louie’s tum¬ 
bled dark hair, his merry blue eyes as unlike Louie’s 
as the shimmering aspen against the somber green 


The Closed Road 


343 


of the cedars; his manner, that was always 
frank and open, his moods serene and sane. He 
was always cheerful, affectionate and manly. 
His sister, although she was older than he, always 
looked up to him as one stronger and wiser than 
herself. The children adored him, and even Kate 
smiled sometimes when he spoke to her. 

One evening she watched them come up the path 
to the house together, Olive and Bruce with the 
children. 

Bessie, her curls bobbing in glee, sat on his 
shoulder, with one fat arm curled tightly around 
his forehead. And Eunice skipped along between 
him and her mother, hanging heavily, as children 
do, to the hand of each. Watching, the memory 
came to Crevola, that Louie’s own child feared 
him. 

They danced a little that evening, and sang, and 
taught the children some verses to say. Crevola’s 
eyes were very tender as she said good night after 
Olive had taken the children up stairs, and Bruce 
Raleigh went to his room with his heart singing. 

The little cones fell from the cedars, the wild 
blackberry leaves reddened, the hush of autumn 
came; and then Aunt Rachel’s slow-beating heart 
stopped. 

They heaped another grave under the cedars. 
Again with bared head, Raleigh read: “ He 
maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He 
leadeth me beside the still waters.” The children 
covered the dark mound with scarlet leaves and 
wild tansy asters, and then the little cortege went 


344 


The Closed Road 


slowly back to the empty house. And Crevola was 
free, alone in the world, and without an idea of 
what to do. 

“ No, Olive. I have no plans,” she answered 
to Mrs. Garret’s question. They sat in front of a 
small fire. Its flitting shine and shadow lighted 
the room fitfully. Crevola, on a low stool, leaned 
her head on the older woman’s knees. The chil¬ 
dren were in bed. In the far, dim corner Kate 
sat with pathetically idle hands, her occupation 
gone. She sat silent and watched Crevola. 

“ Then you will come back to California with 
us. We will be going soon, as Bruce has been 
transferred there.” 

Crevola reached up and took hold of the hand 
that rested on her shoulder. “ It is very good of 
you,” she said tremulously, “ I would always feel 
myself at home where you are. Of course I can’t 
live here.” Her voice trailed away into silence. 
She recalled what Louie had said — so long ago, 
it seemed. “ Someone will come some day and 
take you out into the world.” Had the time 
come? Deep within her was a passionate protest 
that she dared not voice. What if he should come 
back and find her gone, he knew not where? She 
sat silent, pressing the hand against her cheek. 

Raleigh came in with quiet step. Kate got up 
and slipped from the room. 

Mrs. Garret looked up at her brother. His face 
wore a gentle and serious expression as he came to 
the fire and sat down. 

“ Asleep, Crevola? ” he asked. 


The Closed Road 


345 


“ No.” She did not move. “ I am just looking 
into the fire — and the future.” 

“ How far can you see? ” 

u Just to the back of the fireplace.” 

In the sympathetic silence that followed, Des- 
sie’s voice called. 

“ Mama! ” 

“ What can Dessie want? Coming, dear! ” 
Mrs. Garret gently disengaged herself and went 
out. 

Crevola sat up. Her hands fell in her lap in 
her usual resigned attitude. She had never felt 
herself an integrant part of life, and now it seemed 
as if she were just something that had no volition 
of its own, something shifting in the wind. 

Raleigh interrupted her thoughts by rising and 
coming to her side. “ Crevola,” he said, and 
stooping, raised her to her feet. His face showed 
fine and manly, and a little pale even under the 
red glow of the fire. He put his arm about her. 

“ Crevola, I have a place ready for you, if you 
will take it.” 

She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, 
standing quietly in the haven of his arms. 

“ Bruce,” she said at last, her voice was clear 
and steady. “ Everything seems so strange. I 
can’t get used to the idea that Aunt no longer 
needs me. I feel lost, not knowing which way 
to go.” 

“ You couldn’t help feeling so,” he said under¬ 
standing^; “ but you will get over that. I have 
thought of this time for many months, and hoped 


346 


The Closed Road 


when it came that you would turn my way. 
Can’t you? ” 

She did not answer. The firelight flickered and 
flared, making grotesque shadows over everything. 
She drew a deep, tremulous breath, and his arm 
pressed her closer. 

“ Is there any reason, Crevola,” he urged, “ any 
reason why you can’t come to me? Now is the 
time, isn’t it, that we can try making the real 
home we both want?” 

She still leaned against him, her face half hidden. 
He laid his cheek against her hair and they re¬ 
mained so many minutes. He said again: “ Isn’t 
this the time, Crevola? ” 

She drew away from him slightly, looking full 
into his frank and tender face, her own very gentle. 

“ Yes, Bruce,” she said, and met his lips quietly 
with hers. 

They were still standing there when Mrs. Garret 
came back. She paused on the threshold, but 
Raleigh’s voice said clearly with a note of joy: 

“ Come in, Olive. Crevola has decided what 
she will do.” 

Mrs. Garret crossed the room softly. “ I am 
so glad, dear.” She kissed Crevola lovingly. 
“ Glad for you both, and for us all.” 

Crevola, still and pale, returned the caress with¬ 
out emotion; and later, with her lover’s last good 
night on her lips, she climbed the stairs and shut 
the door on herself and the dark of her little room. 

With the darkness close about her she raised 
the window curtain and looked out and up toward 


The Closed Road 


347 


the remote, starry sky. She knelt down. God 
waited up there somewhere in the infinite, world- 
studded space, and his eye looked down into her 
heart. She could not hide her heart from God; 
but perhaps, as Father Gregory had said, He 
understood. 

She knelt there a long time, but she could not 
bring God near. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


There was no need to wait. Raleigh wished to 
be married at once, so Crevola consented. 

“ I don’t wish to be married here, though,” she 
said. “ I don’t want to live here. Take me to 
your home, Olive.” 

Leaving the two Indians in charge at the ranch, 
they went to Ashfork; and there took the Santa 
Fe train for California. At Seligman a telegram 
from the Forest Service overtook Raleigh. 

He said to them with a worried fold between his 
eyes: “ There has been some mistake about my 
leave of absence. I am called back to Phoenix. 
I’m terribly sorry, dear. I shall be gone two days; 
but I will follow you as quickly as I can manage it.” 

“ Can’t we wait for you here, Bruce? ” asked 
Crevola. “ I don’t want to go on without you.” 

“ Why, of course, if you’d rather,” said Raleigh 
happily; “ and Olive doesn’t mind, I’m sure.” 

So they arranged it. Pleasantly situated in a 
hotel, the rest of the party waited for Raleigh’s 
return. 

The afternoon of the second day dragged, and 
the children clamored to take Skenecks out for a 
walk. Mrs. Garret rose, laying aside her maga¬ 
zine. “ Will you come, Crevola? ” 

Crevola sat at the window looking down the row 
of trees that led to the station. “ I don’t believe 


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349 


I will, Olive.’’ She lifted her idle hands, her 
fingers entwined. “ Bruce will be here soon, and 
I haven’t changed my dress.” 

“ Temola, turn now.” “Please! ” began the 
children. 

“ Don’t, children! Crevola doesn’t wish to 
come. We will go then. We’ll not be gone long.” 

They went down stairs, and Crevola watching, 
saw T them on the street below. Skenecks was 
quite mad with joy and the children skipped at 
their mother’s side. They looked back to wave to 
Crevola. 

She watched them until they turned the corner; 
then her glance went on up the street. Seligman! 
The ghost of Louie’s presence haunted the place 
for her. Far up the street she saw a man on a 
bay horse coming down toward the hotel. He 
wore a wide sombrero, and sat his proudly-stepping 
horse with easy grace. Her heart beat fast. 
Leaning forward, she watched him. He came 
nearer, and nearer — and clattered past, a cowboy 
from some far off range. 

Brushing her hand across her eyes, she got up 
and took from her suit case a simple white dress. 
Before the mirror she rearranged her hair in a 
knot. Tears blinded her suddenly. How she 
wished they had not stopped at Seligman! They 
would have reached San Francisco by now, far 
away from impotent memories. 

A step sounded in the hall. Olive, so soon? A 
sharp rap fell against the door. She opened the 
door. The man from the desk down stairs handed 


350 


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her a letter, and looked at her with curiosity in his 
pale eyes. “ The messenger is waiting for an 
answer,” he said. 

She returned his glance indifferently as she 
broke the seal, and her startled gaze seemed to 
pluck out the heart of the message. Her eyes 
grew big and dark and terror-stricken. She sank 
into a chair. The dress lying across the chair slid 
to the floor. The room whirled around her, the 
man in the hall circling with it. She half rose and 
fell back, covering her face with her hands. 

Alarm animated the pale-eyed young man. 
“ Shall I get you something, Miss? ” 

“ No! God! No! ” She rose again shudder¬ 
ing. “ I must go! Is there some way? A train? 
A horse? ” 

“ The man who brought this is waiting in a 
car, Miss.” 

“ Will he wait for me? Tell him I’m coming. 
Just a minute, tell him.” Her body shook and 
her hands almost refused to serve her. 

“ Louie! Piero — dear God! Piero.” 

She flung on her traveling suit, her hat and veil 
and coat. She could not find her gloves. Her 
feet tangled in the muslin dress and left it a 
crumpled wreck on the floor. With her hand on 
the door, she turned back. Bruce! Olive! She 
must leave some word, 

She wondered vaguely if they would be able to 
read what she was writing, her hand shook so! 
And there was so little time! 

The flight of stairs was inconceivably long. 


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351 


The messenger waited at the wheel of a big touring 
car, the engine throbbing. He sprang out to 
assist her in. She raised her head as the door 
snapped behind her, and the vibration of the 
engine stirred the blood around her heart. 

She swayed to the lurch of the machine, her 
mind groping for something tangible to hold to. 
The thought of Piero lying helpless was unbe¬ 
lievable. As they swung out of Seligman she 
turned and spoke to the man. “ How did it 
happen? ” 

“ It was the horse. ” 

“ Berold! ” 

“ Yes. Mr. Barba.no has been gone a long 
time. I have been with him. I have driven him 
every place a car can go. Mr. Barbano is the 
most reckless man I have ever known.” 

“ Yes, yes! ” 

“ He left the horse at the ranch, and no one 
used it. The Wallipais are wonderful horsemen; 
but they were afraid of the stallion. They said it 
was not a horse; but the spirit of an Apache chief 
in a horse’s body. Maybe they were right. 
However it was, kept there in the corral he grew 
as wild as ever, and far more savage.” He paused 
to guide his speeding car around a tall shale cliff. 
“ I admire Mr. Barbano very much,” he con¬ 
tinued, having made the turn safely. “ He is very 
wonderful; but I have thought sometimes that he 
was hardly sane. It was so today when he caught 
and saddled that devil horse. It was a struggle 
between them, I can tell you! I’ve never seen it 


352 


The Closed Road 


equalled; and I have seen some horsemen, Madam, 
and some horses! We were all out to watch 
them, and luckily we were, for the saddle had not 
been used either, and a rat had gnawed the cinche. 
I don’t know why Mr. Barbano didn’t notice it. 
At the third jump of the horse it burst like a mes- 
quite pod. The fall was bad, terrible! And the 
stallion turned on him.” 

“ Ah, Heavens! ” 

“ I had my gun by me. It took three shots to 
bring the stallion to his knees, and another to 
make sure.” 

Something sharp seemed to stab Crevola. 
Berold, the king! To be carrion! And Piero had 
loved him so. “ Can’t you drive faster? ” she 
asked breathlessly. 

“ I’ll do my best. I’m sorry the road is so 
rough.” 

“ Don’t think of that. A few minutes may 
make a great deal of difference,” she added 
scarcely above a whisper. “ Has he doctors and 
a nurse? ” 

“ From Phoenix. Dr. Franklin is there.” 

“ How did he know that I was in Sehgman? ” 

“ I don’t ask Mr. Barbano questions, Madam.” 
He looked at her for the first time boldly with 
curiosity in his eyes behind his goggles, but she did 
not notice it. She did not hear his next question 
until he repeated it. “ Are you a relative of his? ” 

“ Very distant,” she said; and they relapsed 
into a silence that was broken only by the noise 
of the speeding car covering the long miles. 


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353 


She saw from a long way, Louie’s stone ranch 
house with the chapel and bell tower in the court, 
and the adobe Indian houses in the warm glow of 
the setting sun. Then the first reality of it all 
broke over her like a suddenly awakened nerve. 

She hardly waited for the car to stop before she 
was out and up the steps. She pounded on the 
heavy door and while she waited she could see 
through the door, through all the walls and spaces 
between herself and where Piero lay with big eyes 
watching for her. She could see the eyes, dark 
and feverishly bright, and the dark, tumbled hair 
against the pillow. 

She stepped in as the Indian woman opened the 
door. The squaw stopped her, telling her that 
Mr. Barbano was dying. 

“ I know,” Crevola pushed past her. “ He 
sent for me. He’s waiting for me.” Already her 
foot was on the stair. “ Where is he? In his own 
room? ” 

The squaw grunted, trying to keep pace with 
her swift progress up the stair. But Crevola left 
her behind and sped down the long corridor, past 
the picture of a pure-faced young monk hanging 
against the wall. The light through the stained 
glass window played on the frame as she passed 
through the door into Piero’s splendid bedroom. 

The fire light brightened the carved ebony walls, 
and flickered on the red and gold tapestries above. 
The mirror insets sent out thousands of prismatic 
splotches across the ivory and mother-of-pearl; 
they shone on the rich Persian rugs like April 


354 


The Closed Road 


dew drops, and bathed in color the statue of a 
laughing child over by the narrow east window. 

Louie lay on the bed, his eyes wide open watch¬ 
ing the door; his face marred by heavy lines, not 
wholly of pain. Crevola ran to him. She had 
loosened her veil on the way; now she flung her 
wraps behind her and fell on her knees beside the 
bed, and drew his head into her arms. 

“ How I have longed for you, Crevola! You 
can’t know! You can’t know! ” His strength 
went with his half-whispered cry. He raised his 
right hand weakly to touch her face, but it fell 
back. 

She put her lips against his silently, and knelt 
there, pillowing his head in her arms. 

The white-capped nurse who moved quietly, 
paused and came to Crevola’s side; but the two 
were oblivious of her. She started to speak; but 
the look of peace on the patient’s face changed her 
mind. She silently continued her business about 
the bedside. She moved back the white-covered 
table that had been placed there for the last sacra¬ 
ment. She put away the cup, the spoon, and the 
rosary, and set a shade in front of the lighted 
candles to shield the sick man’s eyes. Then she 
sat down and waited. 

The firelight flickered and flared, dying into 
white embers. Dusk gathered in the corners. 
The moon rose and looking in, gilded the dark 
floor. Then Louie spoke. 

“ Did you come alone? ” 

“ Yes, Piero.” 


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355 


“ How long can you stay? ” 

She lifted her head to look into his face. “ As 
long as you want me.” 

“ Crevola! ” 

u I am never going to leave you now.” 

“ God is good! ” The red blood leaped up in 
his face, then receded leaving it like old ivory. 
“ Oh, blessed Christ! ” he panted. u How I have 
wanted you, Crevola! ” 

“ I am here now, never to leave you any more.” 

He looked into her face and his eyes closed as if 
against a light. He opened them again instantly. 
“ And I’ve wanted you so,” he repeated; “ wanted 
you always as a man wants his mate.” His voice 
failed and then recovered. “ You will not leave 
me? ” 

“ Never again.” 

“ It won't be long,” he whispered weakly. And 
then the first cry broke from Crevola. 

“ Oh, Piero! Why didn't you be careful? ” 

He smiled wanly. “ What a question, Crevola! 
Don’t cry so,” he said, for the tears were running 
down her face. “ Do you remember the buck you 
killed on the mountain, how he fell in a clump of 
cacti, and you grieved that the spines pierced his 
eyes? Do you think he cared where he fell? He 
was shot through the heart. So was I, dear.” 

He drew a long breath, closed his eyes and lay 
silent rallying his strength. Presently he said: 
“ We came through Phoenix — and there my man 
saw Raleigh. He knows him; they used to be in 
the Forest Service together. And Raleigh told 


356 


The Closed Road 


him — that he was going — to California — and 
why —” He stopped. His lips grew white. He 
turned away his face. 

Her breath came convulsively; but he gently 
pressed the hand that he held. “ He told me,” Louie 
continued, “ because I knew Raleigh. He didn’t 
know — anything about — us” With his face 
still turned away from her he went on: “ We 
came here. We didn’t go through Seligman; I 
was afraid. And here I found — a telegram from 
Mary —” His voice failed, his face grew ghastly. 

Crevola started up in alarm; but he pressed her 
hand for silence. “ Wait! ” his lips formed. 
“ And she was coming home; she was in New 
York,” he whispered at last hoarsely. “ Oh, 
Christ, Crevola! ” He turned his face toward her. 
“ Do you wonder that I was not careful? I got 
through the night — somehow. At dawn I went 
out.” His eyes smiled faintly. “ The morning 
star hung just above the mountains. It was 
radiant! I called to Berold.” His dim eyes 
kindled. “ He came plunging out of his stall. I 
have never seen him more magnificent, or found 
him more savage. A king among horses! Where 
is he now, Crevola?” 

“ Your man shot him to save you.” 

“ Ah! ” His face contracted in pain; his head 
rolled on the pillow. “ I would have given him 
his freedom. But it’s all right, as it is. I 
shouldn’t have tried to ride him then, for I was 
tired out. I had fought with him for hours. 
There will never be another horse like him.” His 




The Closed Road 


357 


voice ceased, full of regret. Then he smiled 
weakly. “ But I'll not need one. He won over 
me at last.” 

“ A rat had gnawed the cinche,” said Crevola. 

“ So they say. But there was where I failed 
that I didn’t notice it,” he said wearily. “ But I 
don’t complain. It has given me you for a little 
while. I am satisfied.” He closed his eyes from 
weakness. 

She tried to speak but the tears choked her; so 
she remained silent and circled his face with her 
hands. 

“ Will you stay here beside me? ” he asked. “ I 
am tired now and want to sleep. You will be 
here when I wake? ” His eyes were like a child’s 
on its mother’s face. 

“Yes,” she promised gently, “ I’ll be here.” 

“ Put your hand under my head until I go to 
sleep,” he begged. 

She did so, and he nestled his cheek down on it 
and closed his eyes. He opened them heavily. 
“ What time is it? ” 

She glanced at the small clock on the table. 
“ Just twelve.” 

The nurse came to the bedside with medicine in 
a glass. 

“ Did Father Canby go away, Miss Martin? ” 

“ No.” 

“ And Dr. Franklin? ” 

“ They are down stairs together. It is time to 
take your medicine.” 


358 


The Closed Road 


He swallowed it obediently. Then he closed his 
eyes and his face grew composed in sleep. 

Crevola sat there until the intolerable pain of 
her cramped arms compelled her to move. She 
slipped down on her knees and tried to take away 
her hand; but it disturbed him, so she left it 
there. 

The nurse came and put a pillow under her 
knees and folded a robe around her. So Louie 
slept through the night. Many times Miss 
Martin crept to the bedside but he lay calm and 
quiet, breathing regularly, if not deeply. Some¬ 
times Crevola’s head fell forward on the bed 
and she slept; but only for a few minutes each 
time. 

At last came daybreak. Miss Martin arose and 
touched Crevola’s shoulder. “ You had better 
take some rest, Mrs. Barbano,” she said kindly. 
“ You’ve had a long, hard journey and a sad 
home coming. You must rest or you will be ill.” 

Crevola rose obediently with Miss Martin’s 
help. She was stiff and cold, and her knees 
trembled under her. She sat down in a chair. 

“ I will sit here until he wakens.” 

Their hushed voices roused Louie. He stirred 
and opened his eyes. “ Is it morning? ” His 
voice was quite clear. “ I didn’t expect to be here 
this morning.” His searching eyes saw Crevola. 
They smiled and closed again. 

In spite of Miss Martin’s urging, Crevola sat by 
the bed until the priest came in at sunrise. 

“ Peace be to this house,” he murmured. 


The Closed Road 


359 


Crevola turned her head to see the strange 
priest. He was not at all like Father Gregory. 
His head was sleek. He had a sleek red jowl, and 
his serge robe fitted sleekly about his body. As 
he approached the bed he added: “ And peace to 
you, my daughter. How is the husband this 
morning? ” 

Dr. Franklin entered just then, and Crevola 
rose confusedly. 

“ So, Mrs. Barbano,” he said cheerfully; “Nurse 
says our patient is better."’ He smiled with his 
keen eyes on her; and then Crevola saw a strange 
expression come over his face. He glanced 
quickly about the room, his glance coming back 
at her and then to Louie. 

Louie’s eyes were open looking at him. A 
faint red came into his pallid face. “ Doctor,” he 
whispered huskily. 

Crevola slipped away from the bedside, with 
tears smarting under her eyelids. They were all 
calling her Louie’s wife; but Dr. Franklin knew 
better. She had no wish to masquerade as such, 
but she did not know how to meet the situation. 

“ I am very tired,” she said. 

With an exclamation of pity Miss Martin drew 
her gently from the room and down stairs for 
breakfast. She talked to Crevola, trying to soothe 
her, but Crevola was dumb. 

When they came back into the sick room Louie 
lay motionless on the pillow looking stronger and 
with better color, but with a terrible stony expres¬ 
sion in his eyes. 


860 


The Closed Road 


Dr. Franklin was busy with the medicines. He 
glanced once at Crevola but did not speak. He 
gave all his directions to the nurse. 

As soon as Louie knew that Crevola was in the 
room, he called to her in a clear voice. 

She brushed past the nurse, went to him and 
knelt down. 

“ What is it, Piero? ” 

“ Did you see Dr. Franklin? ” 

“ I have not spoken with him.” 

“ Crevola! ” His head moved restlessly. He 
made an effort to rise and fell back with a curse, 
panting in his helplessness. He moistened his 
lips. “ Wait! ” he said, “ wait! Send the nurse 
away. Dr. Franklin says — I’m — better.” He 
laughed a strange, bitter laugh that shocked 
Crevola. 

She took his flushed face between her palms. 
“ What is it, Piero? Tell me.” 

“Wait!” he said again. “Dr. Franklin, will 
you leave us alone? ” 

Dr. Franklin motioned silently to the nurse, 
and Louie waited until she went out, followed by 
the doctor. He turned again to Crevola. “ Kneel 
down here so that we can talk, and put your hand 
in mine.” 

She did so and his fingers closed about hers. 

“ Are you sorry you came? ” he asked. 

“ No! I am very glad.” 

“You left a great deal behind,” he said huskily. 

“ It is nothing,” she said. 

“We love each other.” 


The Closed Road 


361 


11 As God meant all nature to love,” she an¬ 
swered. 

“ For such a little while! ” His voice failed. 

“ Past this life, on into the next.” 

“ Ah, dear! ” His dim eyes kindled. Listen, 
Crevola. If by some strange chance I should live, 
would you still stay with me?” 

“Piero!” she cried in a thrilled voice. She 
lifted her face white with wonder to look into his. 

His head moved ever so slightly. “ Dr. Frank¬ 
lin says so. I am going to live; to live for you! ” 

“ Piero! Is it true? ” Her tears fell on their 
clasped hands. “Is it true? Oh, surely God is 
good! ” 

He murmured something softly, inarticulate. 
After a time he spoke again with an effort: “ But 
I may never walk again, dear,” he said, “ just a 
part of a man.” 

A cry escaped her. Her face went down beside 

his. 

“ Oh, Piero! That is hard.” She held his 
hand tightly. “ But I will be feet for you, dear. 
I will do everything for you.” 

“ I know it.” He closed his lips hard, waiting 
for his self control, “ I know it. But I had 
always planned to do so much for you if — the 
time ever came—” The passionate regret in his 
voice was past all words. 

Her lips wandered over his cheek. “ Yes, yes,” 
she soothed. “ But love can readjust itself. I 
am content to have just you.” 

He turned his face to meet her lips with his; 


362 


The Closed Road 


and lay motionless for a long time. The little 
clock ticked busily through the silence, and the 
sound of a rising wind came in at the open window. 

Finally Louie stirred. “ Lift up your head, 
Crevola, so that I can see your face. 7 ’ 

She did so, trying to smile into his somber eyes. 

He could not answer it. “ What about — 
Raleigh? 77 

“ I don’t love him . 77 

His empty right hand lying outside the cover 
clenched until the knuckles whitened. 

“ And — Mary , 77 he said hoarsely. “ She will 
be here soon— Oh, God! Crevola — 77 he broke 
forth, “ you cannot be my wife even now . 77 

“ I don’t care , 77 she said passionately. “ Every¬ 
thing is as nothing now, except God’s law which 
has brought us together. I am yours, you are 
mine. There is nothing else.” Her voice broke. 
“ Let — me stay — with you, Piero,” she en¬ 
treated, sobbing. “ Let me stay with you, for 
now I can never leave you.” 

“ Oh, God! Oh, Christ! Oh, Crevola ! 77 The 
sweat came out on his forehead; his head beat 
against the pillow. “ Oh, God! I am weak! ” He 
struggled to rise like an animal that is down, and 
fell back helpless. Then the passion in his voice 
broke like a sudden fall of rain. 

“ Let you stay? ” he whispered. “ Ah, God! 
I can’t let you go. No man who ever lived could 
let you go. Stay, Crevola, until God puts us 
apart.” 

Miss Martin came into the room, and up to the 


The Closed Road 


368 


bedside. “It is time for your medicine.’’ She 
looked at Crevola, a remoteness in her glance. 
She understood now. It was not wholly sorrow 
that had kept the girl quiet, it was shame. 

“ You are exciting Mr. Barbano,” she said with 
cold aloofness. “ You had better leave him now.” 

Crevola rose, a strained, frightened look on her 
face. 

But Louie intervened. “ Let her stay,” he said 
harshly. “ Her place is here. Let her stay,” he 
repeated angrily, his eyes so wild that Miss Martin 
dared not disobey. “ Come nearer, Crevola. 
Stay by me while I sleep.” He clasped her hand 
closely, closed his eyes and seemed to sleep. And 
the nurse went back to her chair. 

But he did not sleep. The thought of Crevola’s 
love ran through his mind like a golden thread 
winding on a swiftly moving shuttle; but beside 
it walked two grim images with hideous gargoyle 
faces. They would not go away, and he wondered 
if he could be delirious. Two intangible things 
had assumed tangible shape: Dr. Franklin’s look 
when he saw Crevola, knowing that she was not 
Mary Barbano, and Miss Martin’s tone of sug¬ 
gested remoteness when she spoke to Crevola. 
These two creatures walked and walked, and with 
blackened claws dimmed and frayed the golden 
thread. 

Wearily he tried to thrust the fancy from him. 
He called up specific pictures of Crevola; of their 
life together, that was to be, the life of which they 
had dreamed. They two, side by side, giving and 


364 


The Closed Road 


receiving in a never-ending chain of love. He 
would be well and strong again. Surely! Had 
not Dr. Franklin held out a hope? Faint, yet 
still a hope; and Louie’s optimistic nature clung 
to it. 

But these pictures could not last. Mary was 
coming home. Her arrival was only a matter of 
hours now. How would he shield Crevola from 
her? He cursed his helplessness. Then the 
thought of Crevola as Raleigh’s wife intruded. He 
saw her safe and sheltered in her youth; honored 
and beloved in her beautiful maturity, with rosy 
children clinging around her knees. 

The page of fancy turned sharply and he saw 
her again. He groaned and dug his face in the 
pillow. 

“ Piero! ” soothed Crevola’s voice. 

He heard; but fast in fancy’s hold, he lay still. 
He saw her as the world would see — his mistress. 
He held the word there and faced it. He saw it 
written across her breast in letters of scarlet, that 
all his love could not hide or wipe out. Crevola, 
with her proud head bent, a creature for men to 
leer at, and from whom women would draw aside 
their skirts. 

“ Oh, God! ” The cry burst from his lips. 

“ Piero, dear! ” On her knees beside him 
Crevola leaned over him. 

“ I can’t sleep, Crevola! I can’t sleep! ” 

The nurse came quickly to the bedside. “ Get 
up! ” she said authoritatively to Crevola; but 
again Louie said almost roughly: 



The Closed Road 


865 


11 Let her be! " 

He swallowed the sedative drink the nurse gave 
him. Then he said: “ Stay by me, Crevola. 
Don't leave me while I sleep." 

The noon bells rang out the hour from the tower 
in the court. The sound came in through the 
narrow east window and found Louie still lying 
with closed eyes, pretending to sleep. 

As their soft clangor ceased he opened his eyes. 

“ Will you read to me, Crevola? I have tried 
very hard to sleep, but I can’t. Miss Martin, will 
you bring that black book there, and the Bible 
with it? There by the window. Thank you." 

He took them, keeping the Bible under his hand. 
He motioned Crevola to take the other. 

When she opened it her face whitened. “ You 
don’t want me to read this, Piero," she said. 

“ Yes. They are only prayers, and prayers are 
always good. There are some for the sick. Read 
them." 

So Crevola read, though sometimes her voice 
failed, the beautiful Catholic prayers for the 
passing of the soul. 

He lay motionless, and gave no sign of hearing; 
but when he opened his eyes and stopped her 
reading, they were calm and clear. 

“ That is enough," he said. “ Put it away." 

“ The Bible too? ’’ 

He clutched it with nervous fingers. “No." 

“ Shall I read from it? ’’ 

“ No, no! I only want it under my hand. 
Where’s Dr. Franklin? I want to see him. And 


366 


The Closed Road 


will you and Miss Martin go out of the room? 
Please! And then I want you to come back and 
not leave me any more.” He smiled, and his eyes 
followed her until the closing door hid her from 
sight. 

It was some time before Dr. Franklin came out. 
When he did he looked at Crevola gravely, with a 
tender mist in his eyes. 

“ He asked us to wait a minute,” he said. 

So they waited until Louie called to Crevola. 

“ Sit here beside me, Crevola.” He opened his 
hand for hers. “It is wonderful to have you 
here beside me so! ‘ Thy presence soothes me 

like some far off song/ Dr. Franklin and I have 
been talking. He is a good man, Crevola,” he 
said earnestly. “ If you ever need help — if I am 
not by — go to him. Will you, dear ? ” 

“ Why, Piero? ” 

He closed his eyes as if the light hurt them. 
“ Oh, we all need help sometimes,” he answered. 
“ Lean down and kiss me good night now.” 

“ It isn’t night yet.” 

“It is for me,” he said, “for I am going to 
sleep. I haven’t slept today.” 

As she bent over him, he held her cheek close 
against his, whispering over and over again to her. 
When she sat down again he kept his eyes on hers 
until they closed of their own will. All the lines 
smoothed out of his face, the bad lines life had 
traced there. Sleep settled deeper upon him until 
his hand grew cold in hers, and his face on the 


The Closed Road 367 

pillow was as pure as that of the young monk in 
the corridor. 

Then of a sudden the Bible slid to the floor and 
three small white tablets scattered out from 
between the leaves. 

Crevola’s body jerked at the sound. Her eyes 
followed the rolling white discs. One rolled far¬ 
ther than the others, and stopped at the edge of 
the rug. They were just the kind of tablets that 
Crevola had always kept on hand to give her aunt 
when she was sleepless or in pain, and over her 
flashed sudden comprehensive horror. 

“ Louie! ” she cried, leaning over the bed and 
shaking him. “ Piero! Louie! Nurse! Doctor! 
Somebody, quick ! 7 7 Her scream rang through the 
house. 

Miss Martin, catching a few minutes of sleep in 
the next room, leaped to her feet and ran to Louie’s 
bedside. Crevola met Dr. Franklin’s alarmed 
face at the door. 

“ Quick! ” she gasped. Shaking terribly she 
dragged the great specialist to the bedside. “ He 
took them! ” she cried, pointing. “ He must have, 
while we were out.” 

“ God in heaven! ” cried Miss Martin. “ Why 
did he do that? I didn’t know. Where did he 
get them? ” 

Through Dr. Franklin’s mind flashed illuminat¬ 
ing phrases of Louie’s last talk; of plans concern¬ 
ing Crevola, in which Louie had no part, which 
under certain circumstances, he, Dr. Franklin, was 
to carry out. He had promised, thinking only of 


368 


The Closed Road 


Louie’s helplessness, and that he meant to give 
Crevola up. These things raced through his mind 
as he glanced at the clock and shook his head 
slightly. 

“ Try! ” screamed Crevola, clutching his arm. 
“ Of what use is your skill? Try! ” 

But Dr. Franklin was already in action. “ Take 
her out, Miss Martin,” he said compassionately, 
“ and come back at once.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


The car with the “ Phoenix ” pennant across 
the front slid up to the curb in front of the hotel, 
and Raleigh got out. His face glowed ruddy 
under the faint powder of travel dust. He gave 
the chauffeur a jest along with his fare, and smil¬ 
ing, walked into the hotel lobby. He almost ran 
against the pale-eyed clerk who greeted him 
effusively at the entrance. He nodded to the 
stout proprietor, who leaned on the desk with the 
evening paper spread out before him. 

He looked up, his expectant face dulled a trifle. 
“ Ah, Raleigh! It’s you. I thought you were 
the Governor.” 

Raleigh laughed frankly as he removed his 
broad hat. “ Not yet. Give me time. Expect¬ 
ing him? ” he asked. “ The Governor? ” 

“ Every minute.” He straightened up. 
“ You've seen the paper? Am just reading about 
poor Barbano's accident. Of course we all knew 
it was only a matter of time. That devil-horse 
has killed him at last! ” 

“ Is that so! Gee! I'm sorry to hear that! ” 
said Raleigh with genuine regret in his voice. 
“ Louie was a good fellow.” 

“ And his wife just coming home from Portugal. 
Ah! There's the Governor's car now. He's 
staying here tonight.” He thrust the paper into 


370 


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Raleigh’s hand. “ It’s all there, read it. A sad 
business! Yes; it is Governor Blakesley himself 
and a party of ladies.” 

He hurried out to meet his distinguished guests, 
precipitately followed by the smiling clerk. 

Raleigh opened the paper, but Eunice’s voice 
from above called. 

“ Uncle Bruce, mama wants you to come right 
up.” Her worried child-face hung over the ban¬ 
nister, urging him. He folded the paper in his 
hand and went up at once. 

Olive met him at the door. She looked pale and 
harassed with something of fright in her wide-open 
blue eyes. 

“ Are you ill, Olive? ” He looked past her and 
around the room. “ Where is Crevola? ” 

She threw out her hands impotently. “ I don’t 
know, Bruce. She is gone.” 

“ Gone! ” His speech was like the sound of a 
strained stick snapping; as something irreparably 
lopped off. “ Gone? ” he repeated, his face white 
like a sick man’s. “ Where? ” 

“ I wish I knew! ” 

He leaned weakly against the door, staring at 
her with unbelieving eyes. “ Where could she go 
to, Olive? How did she go? When? Where 
were you? Are you joking? ” 

Eunice came up and took his hand that hung 
down at his side and held it against her cheek, and 
Dessie caught him around the knees. 

He did not notice them. “ You are joking! 
he said. 


>} 


The Closed Road 


371 


“ No, Bruce! No! ” Olive Garret closed the 
door. “ We went for a walk, the children and I. 
She did not care to go. When we came back in 
less than an hour, she was gone. She left this. 
Who is ‘ Louie ’ ? ” 

She held out Crevola’s crumpled note. 

He took it, looking at it dazedly, trying to make 
some sense of what she said. 

“ Read it,” she insisted. “ Who is 1 Louie ’ ? ” 

He did not answer her. His face grew hard as 
he read the hastily scrawled words. 

“ Louie is dying. He has sent for me. I must 
go. Tell Bruce — I’m sorry — sorry! Goodbye, 
all. Olive — Bruce — I can’t help it —” 

He crushed the paper in his hand, his eyes 
searching her face; but she had no answer for him. 
He moistened his lips. 

“ Did she take her things? ” 

She shook her head. “ Nothing. Who is 
Louie? ” she asked again, for the third time. 

“It is Barbano. I suspected him once.” 

“ Oh! ” she cried sharply. “ But, Bruce — he 
has a wife, you said.” 

“ That’s nothing! He doesn’t live with her. 
She is in Europe. Did you make inquiries? It 
may be a trick.” 

“ Bruce — I didn’t know what to do. I thought 
you would be here last night.” 

“ I expected to come, but was detained.” 

“ I waited for you. I didn’t want to arouse 
this little place. The note shows that she went 
of her own free will.” 


372 


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“ I’m not so sure of that, either. I know Bar- 
bano. I can’t believe it,” he muttered. The 
color flashed back into his face. He opened the 
door impetuously. “ I’m going after her.” 

“ Do you want me to —” 

“ Stay here. She may come here if he dies. 
Olive —” He came back into the room. “If — 
if she comes — you will — you won’t —? ” 

“ I will do all I can for her, dear. We may not 
understand.” 

He stooped and gave her a quick kiss. “You 
are the best sister! ” he said huskily. He drew a 
deep breath, and his parting step rang firmly on 
the stairs. 

The pale-eyed young man eagerly verified the 
account of Louie’s accident, according to later 
news brought by the Governor’s party. 

“ Are you friends of his? ” he asked, his pale 
eyes animated by suppressed curiosity. “ I don’t 
know Mr. Barbano myself, being new here; but 
they say it was his man and car that came after 
the young lady. Yes, it is very sad indeed. And 
his wife just home from Europe they say —” 
Raleigh turned away abruptly. He was not 
interested in Louie’s accident or his wife; he 
wanted to find Crevola and save her from the con¬ 
sequences of her rash act. His face, as he went 
down the street betrayed his anxiety of mind. 

It did not help matters that he could not get a 
car for use in the little town. A worn livery team 
was the best he could do; but behind their jaded 
feet, he followed the road north from Seligman. 


The Closed Road 


373 


His mind ran on ahead, vainly groping for 
mental pictures of Crevola. He knew nothing of 
Louie Barbano’s Ranch house except the name. 
But the driver said that he had been there many 
times; and half an hour before they reached it, 
he pointed out the gray mass of stone and adobe 
that made up the buildings on the ranch. 

“ Send ’em through,” said Raleigh impatiently, 
and the tired horses responded to the driver’s whip. 

When at last they arrived, the door of the house 
stood slightly ajar. Raleigh knocked many times, 
impatiently, receiving no answer. 

He could hear sounds throughout the house. It 
was not deserted. He pushed open the door and 
went inside. He entered the living room with the 
idea of waiting until someone appeared. Im¬ 
patient as he was, he could not demand attention 
to himself; perhaps Louie Barbano lay dead in 
the house. 

He stood alone in the barbaric room, alert and 
listening. Putting his hand to his forehead, he 
found it wet with perspiration. 

He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. 
Footsteps were coming down the stairs. It was 
the nurse carrying a tray with pitcher and glass. 
She paused as the tall young man in khaki came 
toward her. Raleigh apologized for his presence 
there. 

“ How is Mr. Barbano? ” he asked. 

“ He is better.” Miss Martin rested her tray 
on the newel post. “ He is out of danger now. 
We have had a hard fight, but he will live. He has 


374 


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remarkable recuperative powers, and a tenacious 
hold on life. Few men could have survived this 
second shock. No one is allowed to see him.” 

“ I don’t wish to see him,” he said almost curtly. 
“ But the young lady who came day before yester¬ 
day from Seligman — is she — she is —? ” 

“ She is with him.” The nurse’s puzzled face 
cleared. She looked directly into the trustworthy 
blue eyes on a level with hers, for Raleigh stood a 
step below her on the stair. “ Did you come for 
her? ” 

“ Yes. Will you tell her that I am here? 
Please.” 

She drew a quick breath of relief. u I am very 
glad.” She started up the stair, then turned back. 
“ Shall I tell her who is here? ” 

“ I am H. B. Raleigh of the Forest Service; but 
it will not be necessary to tell her, she will know.” 

She went on, and Raleigh waited. After the 
rustle of her dress and the soft tread of her feet 
ceased at the top of the stairs, and she vanished 
at the turn of the corridor, his vision came from 
within. 

His frank young face hardened as imagination 
pictured Crevola at Louie Barbano’s bedside in 
the service of love that cannot be put into words. 
His left hand on the bannister clenched hard. 

A stiff breeze blew the half-open door wide. 
Its cool breath came in and chilled his damp 
forehead. It went through the hall and a door 
banged shut in the back part of the house. The 
sound gave him a feeling as of something irrev- 


The Closed Road 


375 


ocably closed. A Wallipai woman, her calico 
shawl over her head, peered into the hall. She 
ducked back suddenly at sight of Raleigh as a 
prairie dog ducks into its hole. 

He turned impatiently and looked up. The 
nurse came around the curve of the corridor, alone. 
He met her at the top of the stairs. Her whole¬ 
some face wore a look of suppressed exasperation 
which matched the hardness in her voice. 

“ She does not wish to see you,” she said. 

“ She must see me,” he said firmly. “ I must 
see her. May I go in? I will not disturb your 
patient.” 

She looked sympathetically into his eyes, but 
she shook her head slowly. “ I can't do that,” 
she said. “ It is against the rules.” 

His steady eyes, bright and blue, held hers. 

“ Isn’t it possible for you to stretch the rules 
sometimes? There is something of grave impor¬ 
tance at stake; more than a man’s life. I know,” 
he anticipated her and silenced her. “ Your re¬ 
sponsibility too. We have more than one respon¬ 
sibility resting on us.” He paused the merest 
fraction of a second, then caught up the thread of 
his talk quickly. “ Louie Barbano’s wife is com¬ 
ing home. She may arrive at any moment. It 
would not be a soothing time for your patient, I 
think. Do you see? ” 

“ I see,” said Miss Martin in a troubled voice. 
“ Is the young lady your sister? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Raleigh and his pale face 
flushed deeply. 


376 


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“ I see,” said Miss Martin again. She did not 
believe him; but she fully realized what it might 
be if the wife came home and found another woman 
in her place. 

“ You are undoubtedly right,” she said, “ she 
should not be there; but to disobey orders is a 
very serious thing for a nurse.” 

“ That is true,” he agreed simply, “ but if 
nothing serious comes of it, she will not suffer. 
You needn’t be afraid. I’m very sure if I can 
just speak to her, she will not refuse me.” 

Still the nurse hesitated, wavering; then she 
turned with quick decision. “ This way,” she 
said. 

He followed her just outside the sick room. 
There he stopped. 

Crevola sat leaning over the bed looking into 
Louie Barbano’s wan face, its bloodless hue 
heightened by his dark ruffled hair against the 
pillow. Her hand lay close in his weakly clasped 
fingers. 

Raleigh’s face turned whiter, but he said 
steadily: “ Crevola, Olive and the children are 
waiting for you at Seligman.” 

A tremor ran over her body, but she did not 
look up. 

Miss Martin laid her hand on her shoulder. 
“ Perhaps you had better speak with him,” she 
said gently. 

Louie’s closed lids fluttered and opened. He 
weakly unclasped his fingers as a sign of release; 


The Closed Road 


he was past resistance. His head moved slightly 
on the pillow. His lips formed, “ Go.” 

Crevola got up slowly, her head bent. She 
moved away from the bed and raised her eyes to 
Raleigh’s face as if it were a face she had long 
forgotten. Then she went docilely through the 
door he held open and closed after her. Outside 
she swayed and clutched at the wall for support. 

He took her by the arm and led her down the 
corridor to the end where the vari-colored light 
fell through the stained glass. He seated her in 
silence on the broad seat built against the wall, 
and stood before her looking down on her, at loss 
for words. 

In the mind of each was the common caution 
that pervades the sick room. Stunned by the 
events of the last few hours Crevola could think 
of but one thing, the slight hold Louie had on life. 
And Raleigh’s whole thought was for her. 

She spoke first, again raising her dumbly speak¬ 
ing eyes to his. 

“ Why did you come, Bruce? What did you 
expect to do? ” 

“ I came to take you back, and I expect you to 
go. Didn’t you suppose that I would come? ” 

She turned away her head. “ I didn’t think 
about it at all,” she said wearily. 

He flushed at her unconscious cruelty, and 
caught the inner part of his lip with his teeth; 
but his voice was still steady. 

“ You didn’t think then, you had no time. But 


378 


The Closed Road 


you can think now. You see the position that you 
are in; and I am here to help you out of it.” 

She shook her head. “ I can’t go back.” 

“ Why? ” His even tone faltered, and his lips 
grew white. 

She did not answer. 

He mastered his voice. “ Is there any reason? 
If so, tell me, Crevola.” He paused, but she did 
not speak. His eyes grew dark with pain. 

“ Tell me,” he urged gently. “ Whatever it is, 
it will make no difference. I love you, Crevola. 
Nothing can change that. And Olive loves you. 
Come! ” 

“ I can’t go back to Olive.” 

“ You can. She is waiting for you.” 

“ It is not possible,” she faltered. “I — have 
lost her — lost you all.” 

“ You have lost nothing,” he assured her 
generously. “ Olive will in no way blame or re¬ 
proach you. She sees clearly for you, and loves 
you as I do. Come back to us! If I have failed 
in any way, I will make it up.” 

“ No, no! Not that. It is myself. Things 
are different now.” 

“ Not to me, dear. You haven’t changed in 
my eyes; because I know that you are true, even 
in a wrong cause.” 

“ No! Not that! ” again she protested ve¬ 
hemently. “ I am asking nothing. You are 
good, kind, everything — but I love Louie. I 
must stay with him.” 

“ Crevola,” his voice faltered. “ Is it — that — 


The Closed Road 


379 


that you love him — instead—” He did not 
finish for he was watching her face which glowed 
with a sort of spiritual light. A slow red crept 
over his face and neck and to the line of his blonde 
hair. He made an effort at self-control; but his 
voice was still unsteady as he continued: 

“ Leave me out of it then. Think only of 
yourself. I only want to save you from shame 
and disaster. Think, Crevola! You must come 
away. He is safe, now, and well cared for. You 
can’t do much.” 

“ I can be at his side.” 

“ Crevola, child! ” His voice broke passion¬ 
ately. 11 Can’t you see what you are doing? 
What you are risking? What you are bound to 
lose? And the world is not easy, Crevola, on the 
woman who loses.” 

She shook her head, a mute signal of the futility 
of his argument. The wordless inflexibility that 
had held out against Louie’s tumultuous appeals, 
and rendered them powerless to shake her fixed 
determination, now baffled Raleigh and silenced 
him for the moment. 

He put his hand on hers, which lay tightly 
clasped in her lap; but she shrank almost shame¬ 
facedly away from his touch, and he, misunder¬ 
standing her action, let her go. 

“ Crevola,” he began again, hardening his voice 
into steadiness, “ you must look ahead and see. 
His wife is coming. It’s only a question of a few 
hours, perhaps minutes — she is on the way.” 

“ He doesn’t care for her; he loves me.” 


380 


The Closed Road 


11 But what will you do? ” he asked patiently. 
“ What will you do when she comes? What will 
you say to her, to explain your presence here? ” 

Her head drooped piteously. Her knuckles 
stood out white in her tightly clasped hands, and 
she could not look up into his pained face. 

“ I — I don’t know. But I must stay with 
him until she comes,” she said faintly. 

“ What child’s idea have you, Crevola? ” he 
broke out in suppressed anger. “ You must know 
you can’t do that. You can’t stay here. She is 
his wife. She will drive you out into the Indian 
huts.” 

“ Louie will take care of me.” 

His lips turned white. 

“ Louie! Good God! He is in a fine situation 
to protect you — when he has to depend on other 
hands for the very water he drinks! ” 

“ You don’t know him. He will find a way.” 

“ Then I wish to heaven he were able to protect 
himself! ” He drew up his stalwart young figure 
and squared his broad shoulders; “ I would make 
him find a way, if he still cared to live! ” 

Her piteous, frightened face stopped him. He 
turned from her with an angry gesture and paced 
down the corridor. He felt as if he were beating 
a wild pigeon. 

She watched him helplessly. He came back 
immediately and stood again looking down on 
her, his lips pressed closely together, his eyes 
steel-blue. He opened his tightly set teeth to ask: 


The Closed Road 


381 


“ How will he protect you? What does he pro¬ 
pose to do? ” 

She shook her head dumbly. 

“ Very well, then. I will ask him. I can’t 
leave you here until I know.” 

She sprang up, grasping his arm. “ You must 
not! You must not go in. He is very weak.” 

He shook himself free. “ That’s nothing to me. 
I don’t care if it kills him.” 

“ Miss Martin will not let you in. The doctor 
and Father Canby are down stairs.” 

“ That makes no difference. I’ve come here to 
save you, Crevola, and I don’t intend to let any¬ 
thing or anybody stop me.” 

She drew back cautiously from the hard glitter 
in his eyes, as one draws away from a threatened 
danger he is powerless to avert. 

“ Wait, Bruce! Wait! ” she said, speaking low 
and carefully, as one fearful that the sound of his 
own voice might precipitate the impending dis¬ 
aster. 

“It is in your hands,” he said harshly. “ If 
you will come with me now, quietly, that is all I 
ask. And I make no claim on you. Go where 
you choose; I’ll take you there. Only you must 
come away from this house. Otherwise, you 
force me into asking Louie Barbano himself in 
what way he guarantees your safety.” 

There could be no appeal from his decision. 
She saw that, as she looked into his eyes. She 
had not imagined his cheery, kindly face could be 
so hard, so unyielding. 


382 


The Closed Road 


11 Wait! ” she said again. “ Oh! ” her voice 
changed sharply. “ There is the nurse! ” 

He turned abruptly and paused, for the nurse 
came straight toward them, her wholesome face 
full of deep concern, and spoke Crevola’s name. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


After Crevola left the bedside, and the door 
closed behind her and the young Ranger, Louie 
lay motionless with closed eyes. His face grew 
more pinched as that of one who suffers mental 
anguish. Twice Miss Martin gave him the stimu¬ 
lating drops. Then the pallid hue of his face 
gave way to a flush on either cheek. The flush 
brightened and his head moved restlessly. He 
opened his eyes and looked at the nurse appeal¬ 
ingly. 

She bent over him. “ What is it? ^ 

“ Will you tell her to come back? ” he whis¬ 
pered. “ I must speak to her.” 

“ Not yet,” she answered. “ Presently.” 

“ Now,” he insisted. “ I can’t wait.” His 
breath came quickly. 

“ You can for a while,” soothed Miss Martin, 
busying herself about the bed. She readjusted the 
pillows, smoothed the covers, and rearranged 
the medicine glasses. She did not intend to let 
the girl come back. Aside from the excitement 
to her patient, she wanted Raleigh to have his 
chance. 

But Louie’s eyes were on her. As she ap¬ 
proached with the medicines, he protested faintly. 

“ No, no! Please! Wait! Don’t give me any¬ 
thing! Listen! Come closer.” 


384 


The Closed Road 


She came to the bedside. 

“ I will be good. I will be quiet. Call her. I 
must speak to her. — I must tell her what to do. 
Forget —” he faltered. “ We all make mistakes, 
often grave ones. We are all human beings — 
most of the time. We can’t get away from 
that —” 

His great dark eyes, wide-open now, looked 
pleadingly into her serious face. “ Let me see 
her! ’’ His voice rose weakly — passionate. ‘‘ Be 
a little kind,” he panted. “ It will not hurt me! 
And if it should, what does it matter? My life is 
nothing, nothing I say! I would rather lose it — 
you know that, than to have harm come to her. 

“ What will tempt you? Money? I will give 
you money. I will double your wage here. I will 
make you independent — anything you ask for! ” 

“ Hush! ” Miss Martin laid a cool hand on his 
forehead. 

He tried to shake it off and struggled to rise. 
“ Why did you bring me back? I had the problem 
solved, and among you, you upset it. Now you 
must help me. She must not suffer more because 
of me. You can’t refuse! I must see her. I will! 
Crevola, come! ” 

His hoarse call was not much more than a whis¬ 
per. He had used all his scant strength. 

Miss Martin laid a soothing hand on him again. 
He did not resist. His strength was gone, but his 
will still struggled. He lay back on the pillow, 
panting and cursing his weakness. 

“ You must not do that. Don’t try to get up. 


The Closed Road 


385 


I will let you see her; but you must be very quiet 
or I can’t do it. Lie down and be still for fifteen 
minutes, and I will call her.” 

His tense body relaxed. “ You are good,” he 
whispered, closing his eyes. “ Some water, 
please.” 

He drank thirstily from the glass she held to his 
lips, and then he lay very still trying to control 
his labored breath. 

Miss Martin thought he fell asleep, but presently 
he opened his eyes wide. “ Is it time? ” he asked. 

“ Pretty soon,” she said. “ Lie still.” 

He closed his eyes again, but they would not 
stay closed. 

“Now is it time? ” 

She put him off again; but he began to be rest¬ 
less, and the burning color came up in his cheeks. 
At his third request the nurse went to the door and 
spoke to Crevola. 

Crevola’s swift feet answered the call. She 
waved away Raleigh’s detaining hand and hurried 
to the nurse’s side. 

“ He wants to see you. Remember, he is very 
weak,” cautioned Miss Martin. “ You can stay 
but a moment, and don’t make any fuss.” 

She looked at Raleigh’s stern face as he stood in 
baffled silence, under the window, with splotches 
of green-and-gold light across his blonde head. 
She tried to smile reassuringly, and followed 
Crevola into the sick room. 

Louie’s eyes unclosed as Crevola knelt at the 
bedside. He smiled faintly, and lay looking at 


386 


The Closed Road 


her. All the doubt and trouble had left his face 5 
it was peaceful and composed as the face of the 
newly dead. His softly shadowed eyes looked at 
her mistily, like the moon shining out of a fog. 
Finally he said: 

“ Are you going, Crevola? ” 

She leaned over him, rigidly calm. “ Do you 
want me to go? ” 

“ It is best. I have told Dr. Franklin, and he 
will care for you. He is a wonderful man. He 
understands! And he has just lost his own 
daughter.” 

Her strained control broke. She flung her arms 
out across the bed, and her head went down on 
her arms. His long thin fingers weakly sought 
her hair, and remained there, white against the 
leaf-brown mass. 

“ It is best,” he repeated. “ We have been 
traveling a blind road, and we have come to the 
end. We know now. We understand. We see 
now how Father Gregory was right — as you 
were always right,” he added. His voice, though 
very faint, did not falter. “Some day — I am 
sure of it, Crevola — the way will be opened. 
Shall we wait? I shall not tire of waiting. I 
shall not forget, nor change, in that. As long as 
I live you will be what you are to me, today — 
not only first among women, but first over all 
things in the world.” 

His low voice sank to a whisper. His lips 
quivered slightly, and he turned his head on the 
pillow. 


The Closed Road 


387 


“ I shall live, now. I know a better way than 
I knew before. I shall live and try to learn to 
be what I am not now, what I have never been — 
worthy of you. But I can change. I will change,” 
his old egotism flared faintly, “ and you shall gain 
by waiting.” 

Crevola did not answer. Only the fingers of one 
outstretched hand opened and shut convulsively. 
In the utter silence of the room the faint rustle of 
the nurse’s dress sounded, as she moved to Cre- 
vola’s side and laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

u In a moment, Miss Martin.” Louie’s voice 
was stronger. He misunderstood the nurse’s 
action. “ We will not impose on your patience. 
Lift up your head, Crevola, that I may see there 
are no tears.” 

Crevola had passed beyond the place of tears; 
but she did not lift her head. To leave Piero’s 
side; to go out to an untried life among strangers! 
Everything was so dark! To leave Piero! But 
he had decided for them. Perhaps some day it 
would seem all right; but how far off that day she 
could not guess. Raleigh would take her away; 
but he would not hold her. She would be free. 
And Piero would wait— he had just said so — all 
his life. She, too, must wait the best she could; 
there could be no life without him. 

She lifted her head and leaned over him. Her 
eyes, wide and infinitely sad, were quite dry. 

“ While you are waiting, Piero, it will help you, 
won’t it, to know that I am waiting too? Oh, I 
will wait,” she said in her passionate, low voice. 


388 


The Closed Road 


“ I will wait until you come. And I, too, will 
learn how I can be the most to you. I will learn 
how love can wait and serve at the same time. 
And it will not only be waiting, it will be more. 
It will be getting ready for our life together.” 

He smiled his faint, peaceful smile with the misty 
glow still in his eyes. 

“ Crevola, Spirit and Heart,” he whispered close 
to her lips. “ I am through seeking for that 
which cannot end, for I have found it. It will be 
with me all the way. Kiss me, once for the road 
we have finished and once for the first step on the 
new way.” 

She leaned and kissed him twice, her lips clinging 
to his. Then she rose with shining eyes and went 
softly out. 

At the door she turned, for the last time, and 
met his seeking eyes with a smile. 

“ Good-bye,” she said clearly, and he answered, 
“ Good-bye.” 

Though this was a definite parting, both voices 
were firm and quiet, both faces composed and 
strong, and full of hope for their ultimate reunion; 
though neither knew that God had already opened 
the way, that the “ terrible pains ” had manifested 
themselves, and Mary Barbano was coming home 
to die. 































































































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